IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


k 


/. 


{./ 


^  .>% 


r/ig 


i^\ 


% 


ij. 


t/. 


s 


1.0 


I.I 


I4£|28     |2.5 
lAo    111112.0 


Li5  lllll_y_  iiiiii.6 


y 


^/# 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


■J> 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadit>n  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibiJographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibiiographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  tho 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


□ 


D 


D 


□ 
□ 


D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couieur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommag6e 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur^  et/ou  peliiculto 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  gAographiques  en  couieur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couieur  (i.e.  autre  que  bieue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couieur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
ReliA  avec  d'autres  documents 


I  fght  binding  may  cause  shadow^,  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serrde  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  la  long  da  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 

II  se  ptiut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutAes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte. 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
nar.  6t6  fllmias. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplAmentaires: 


L'Institut  a  misrof  limt  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lul  a  At*  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  ditaiis 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mtthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquAs  ci-dessous. 


t 


I      I   Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couieur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagies 


□   Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur6es  et/ou  pellicultos 

0   Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet6es  ou  piquAes 

□   Pages  detached/ 
Ptiges  d6tach4es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prin 

Quality  inigale  de  I'impression 

includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplAmentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seuie  6dition  disponible 


1 

P 

0 

f 


C 

b 
t 

s 
o 

f 

s 
o 


r~T'  Showthrough/ 

I      I   Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I    includes  supplementary  material/ 

I — I    Only  edition  available/ 


T 
si 
T 
vt 

IV 
d 

ei 
b( 
ri 
re 
nn 


D 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  nave  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totaiement  ou  partiellemen: 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  M  fiimies  A  nouveau  de  fagon  A 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ca  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquA  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

i 

s/ 

i 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

■ 

32X 

I 

tails 
t  du 
odifisr 
une 
maga 


The  copy  filmod  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Nationai  Library  of  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —»- (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grfice  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  I'exempldire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  corditions  du  contrat  de 
filmaga. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  do:.t  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  filmds  en  commen^^.nt 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustrrition,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tour  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  an  commandant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  ccmporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  ns  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  fllmd  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


Tata 
o 


>elure. 


D 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

THE  QUEEI  Of  THE  ISLE 


BY 


Mrs.  may  AGNES  FLEMING 

AUTHOR   OK    "im.-    iiAVLr  v;r,.n,.„M   ., 

MIDNIGHT  OUEKV  "  "tui^  uf,...  ^ 

VUi.LN,         rilL  KIVAL  liROTHERS,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THK  FEDERAL   BOOK   COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


rl 


I 


CONTENTS. 


1 1 


v 
i 


PACE 

I.  Campbell's  Isle  5 

II.  Tlie  31ugic  Minor 9 

III.  The  Maniac's  Curse oj 

IV.  The  Haunted  Room 32 

V.  The  Midnight  Cry  39 

VI.  The  Old  Love  and  tlio  New 4(j 

VII.  The  Ilcarfs  Struggle 53 

VIII.  The  Triumph  of  Passion cO 

IX.  The  Vision  of  tlio  Isle 69 

X.  One  of  Fortune's  Smiles ;5 

Xi,  The  Storm- the  Wreck .- 93 

XII.  Sybil's  Return  to  thf :  Isle 90 

XIII.  The  Meeting oq 

XIV.  Jealousy -.  qc 

XV.  Self-Torture II3 

XVI.  Falsehood  and  Deceit II9 

XVII.  A  Lull  Before  the  Tempest 127 

XVIIL  The  Tempest I35 

XIX.  ThatDay ^^4 

XX.  What  Came  Next ]51 

XXI.  That  Night..... l,r^7 

XXII.  Next  Morning 16^ 

XXIII.  Morning  in  the  Island I73 

""3" 


l\  i 


4  CONTENTS. 

XXIV.  Christie ^^°' 

185 

XXV.  The  Maniac's  Story. . . 

•^       199 

XXVI.  Remorse. . .    . 

213 

XXVII.  Tlie  Widowed  Bridegroom ooo 

XXVIII.  The  Thunderbolt  Falls o"" 

XXIX.  The  Devotion  of  Love o^p 

XXX.  Sybil's  Doom 1, 

345 

XXXI.  The  Bankrupt  Heart or^ 

XXXII.  Another  Storm  without  and  within 257 

XXXIII.  The  Dead  4.1ive „1, 

265 

XXXIV.  Explanations 

XXXV.  Meetings  and  Partings 288 


I 


OB 

35 
13 


50 
tG 

L5 

7 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Campbell's  isle. 


About  six  miles  from  the  mainland  of  M- 


— ,  with  its 

rock-bound  coast  waslied  by  the  waters  of  the  broad  At- 
lantic, was  an  islet,  known  in  the  days  of  which  I  write 
as  Campbell's  Isle. 

This  island  was  small — about  two  miles  in  length  and 
the  same  in  breadth,  but  fertile  and  luxurious.  Tlie  dense 
primeval  forest,  which  as  yet  the  destroying  axe  had 
scarcely  touched,  reared  its  self  high  and  dark  in  tlio 
northern  part  of  the  island.  A  deep  unbroken  silence 
ever  reigned  here,  save  wlien  some  gay  party  from  the  op- 
posite coast  visited  the  island  to  fish  or  shoot  partridges. 
Sometimes,  during  tlie  summer,  pleasure  parties  were  held 
here,  but  in  the  winter  all  was  silent  and  dreary  on  this 
lonely  spot. 

This  island  had  been,  from  time  immemorial,  in  the 
possession  of  a  family  named  Campbell,  handed  down 
from  father  to  son.  The  people  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try had  learned  to  look  upon  them  as  the  rightful  lords  of 
the  soil,  "  to  the  manor  born."  Tlie  means  by  wliich  it 
had  first  come  into  their  possession  were  seldom  thought 
of,  or  if  thought  of.  only  added  to  their  reputation  as:  a 
bold,  daring  race.  The  legend  ran  tliat,  long  before  Cal- 
vert came  over,  a  certain  Sir  Guy  Campbell,  a  celel)fatcd 
freebooter  and  scion  of  tlie  noble  Scottish  clan  of  tliat 
name,  who  for  some  reckless  crime  had  been  outlawed  and 
banished,  and  in  revenge  had  hoisted  the  black  flag  and 
become  a  rover  on  tlie  high  seas,  had,  in  his  wanderings, 
discovered  this  solitary  island,  which  he  made  the  place  of 
his  rendezvous.     Here,  with   his  band   of  dare-devils— all 


li 


6 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


outlaws  liko  liimself — lie  held  nuuiy  a  jolly  carousal  that 
made  the  old  woods  riiig.  In  one  of  his  adventures  ho 
liad  taken  captive  a  young  Spanish  girl,  whose  wondrous 
beauty  at  once  conquered  a  iieart  all  unused  to  the  teiuler 
passion,  lie  l)ore  ofT  his  prize  in  triumph  and,  without 
asking  her  consent,  made  her  his  wife  at  tiie  first  port  he 
touched.  Soon,  however,  tiring  of  her  company  on  ship- 
board, ho  brought  her  to  his  island  liome,  and  there  left 
her  to  occupy  liis  castle  while  he  sailed  merrily  away. 
One  year  afterward.  Sir  Guy  the  Fearless,  as  he  was  called, 
■was  conquered  by  an  English  sloop-of-war,  and,  true  to 
his  daring  charac^ter,  he  blew  up  his  vessel  and,  together 
with  his  crew  and  captors,  perished  in  the  explosion. 

His  son  and  successor,  (lasper,  born  on  the  isle,  grew  up 
tall,  bold  and  handsome,  witli  all  his  mother's  beauty  and 
torrid,  passionate  nature.  lie,  in  the  course  of  time,  took 
to  himself  a  wife  of  the  daughters  of  the  mainland  ;  and, 
after  a  short,  stormy  life,  passed  away  in  his  turn,  to  ren- 
der an  account  of  his  works,  leaving  to  his  eldest  son, 
Hugh,  the  bold  spirit  of  his  forefathers,  the  possession  of 
CampbelTs  Isle,  and  the  family  mansion  known  as  Camp- 
bell's Lodge. 

And  so,  from  one  generation  to  another,  the  Campbells 
ruled  as  lords  of  the  isle,  and  became,  in  after  years,  as  noted 
for  their  poverty  as  their  pride.  A  reckless,  improvident 
race  they  were,  Ciiring  only  for  to-day,  and  letting  to- 
morrow care  for  itself  ;  quick  and  fierce  to  resent  injury 
or  insult,  and  implacable  as  death  or  doom  in  their  hate. 
Woe  to  the  man  who  would  dare  to  point  in  scoi'ii  at  one 
of  their  name  !  Like  a  sleuth  hound  they  would  dog  his 
steps  night  and  day,  and  rest  not  until  their  vengeance 
was  sated.  Fierce  alike  in  love  and  hatred,  the  Campbells 
of  the  isle  were  known  and  dreaded  for  miles  around. 
I^^rom  sire  to  son  the  liery  blood  of  Sir  Guy  the  Fearless 
passed  unadulterated,  and  throbbed  in  the  veins  of  ]\Iark 
Campbell,  thelato  master  of  the  Lo(''ge,  in  a  darker,  fiercer 
stream  than  in  any  that  had  gone  before.  A  heavy- 
browed,  stern-hearted  man  he  was,  of  wliose  dark  deeds 
wild  rumors  went  whispering  about,  for  no  one  dared 
breathe  them  aloud,  lest  they  should  reach  his  vindictive 
cars,  and  rouse  the  slumbering  tiger  in  his  breast.  At 
liis  death,  which  took  place  two  or  three  years  previous 
to  the  opening  of  our  story,  his  son  Guy,  a  true  descendant 


t 


CAMPBELL'S  ISLK. 


of  liis  illiistrions  namosuko,  became  tlio  lord  and  master 
of  tlio  isle,  and  tlie  hist  of  tlie  Oampbellrf. 

Vuung  (iiiy  sliowed  no  dis])osiU()n  to  pass  lii3  days  in 
the  spot  wiierc  lie  was  b*»rn.  After  tlie  death  of  his  fatlier, 
(Jiiy  resolved  to  visit  foreign  lands,  and  h'ave  (':mipbi'irs 
Lod<;e  in  care  of  an  old  black  servant.  Aunt  Moll,  and 
lier  son  Lein,  both  of  whom  had  ]);issi'd  their  lives  in  tho 
service  of  the  family,  and  eonsideri'd  that  in  some  sort  tho 
honor  of  the  house  lay  in  their  hands.  \'M<,Mie  riimorg 
were  current  that  the  ohl  house  was  haunted.  Fishermen 
out,  castiiiix  their  nets,  avowed  that  at  midnitjlit,  blue,  un- 
earthly liirlits  ilashed  from  the  Ujiper  ehambei's — where  it 
was  known  Aunt  Moll  never  went — ami  wild,  ])iercing 
shrieks,  that  chilled  the  blood  with  horror,  echoed  on  tliO 
still  night  air.  The  supcM-stitious  whispered  that  I)la(;k 
]\Iark  hiid  been  sent  back  by  his  master,  the  Evil  One,  to 
atone  for  his  wicked  deeds  done  in  the  llesh,  and  tlnit  his 
restless  spirit  would  forever  haunt  the  old  Lod<;{i,  the 
scene,  it  was  believed,  of  many  an  appalling  crime,  lio 
that  as  it  may,  the  old  house  was  deserted,  save  by  old 
Moll  and  her  hopeful  son  ;  and  youns^  ^'ny,  taking  with 
him  his  only  sister,  spent  his  time  in  cruising  about  in  the 
schooner  he  owned,  and — it  was  said,  among  the  rest  of 
the  rumors — in  cheating  the  revenue. 

Besides  the  Lodge,  or  ('ampbell's  Castle,  as  it  was  some- 
times called,  the  island  contained  but  one  other  habitation, 
occupied  by  a  widow,  a  distant  connection  of  the  Canip- 
bells,  who,  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  had  come  hero 
to  reside.  Tho  cottage  was  situated  on  the  summit  of  a 
gentle  elevation  that  conimanded  an  extensive  view  of  the 
island  ;  for  Mrs.  Tondinson — or  Mrs.  Tom,  as  she  was 
always  called — liked  a  wide  prospect,  at  least,  if  nothing 
else  could  be  obtained  on  the  lonely  island. 

The  most  frugal,  tlie  most  industrious  of  housewives  wag 
Mrs.  Tom.  Xo  crime  in  her  eyes  ecpialed  that  of  thrift- 
lessness,  and  all  sins  could  be  pardoned  but  that  of  laziness. 
Unfortunately  for  her  peace  of  n.ind,  she  was  alllicted 
with  an  ori)han  nephew,  the  hiziest  of  mortals,  whose 
shortcomings  ke[)t  the  bustling  old  lady  in  a  fever  from 
morning  to  niijlit.  A  wild  voung  sister  of  Mrs,  Tom  had 
run  away  with  a  Dutch  fiddler,  and  dying  a  few  years  after, 
■was  soon  followed  to  the  grave  by  her  husband,  who  drank 
more  than  was  good   for  him  one  night   and  was  found 


8 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


dead  in  tho  morning.  Master  Carl  Henley  waa  accordingly 
adopted  by  liis  only  living  relative,  and,  as  that  good  lady 
declared,  had  been  "  the  death  of  her  "  every  day   since. 

A  young  girl  of  sixteen,  known  only  as  ''Christie,"  was 
the  only  other  member  of  Mrs.  Tom's  family.  Who  this 
girl  was,  where  she  had  come  from,  and  what  was  her 
family  name,  was  a  mystery  ;  and  Mrs.  Tom,  when  ques- 
tioned on  the  subject,  only  shut  her  lips  and  shook  her 
liead  mysteriously,  and  spoke  never  a  word.  Althougli  she 
called  the  old  lady  aunt,  it  was  generally  believed  tliat 
she  was  no  relation  ;  but  as  Christie  was  a  favorite  with  all 
who  visited  the  island,  tho  mystery  conoerning  her,  though 
it  piqued  the  curiosity  of  the  curious,  made  them  like  her 
none  the  less. 

A  big  Xewfoundland  dog  and  a  disagreeable,  chattering 
parrot  completed  the  widow's  household. 

Mrs.  Tom's  business  was  flourishing.  She  made  a  reg- 
ular visit  each  week  to  the  maiidand,  where  she  disposed 
of  fish,  nuts  and  berries,  in  whicli  the  island  abounded, 
and  in  return  brought  back  groceries  and  such  other 
things  as  she  needed.  Iksides  that,  she  kept  a  sort  of  tavern 
and  a  place  of  refreslnnent  for  the  sailors  and  lishermen, 
who  sometimes  stopped  for  a  day  or  two  on  the  island  ; 
and  for  many  a  mile,  both  by  land  and  sea,  was  known 
the  fame  of  Mrs.  Tom. 

Such  was  Campbell's  Isle,  and  such  were  its  owners  and 
occupants.  For  many  years  now  it  had  been  quiet  and 
stagnant  enough,  until  the  development  of  sundry  startling 
events  that  for  long  afterward  was  remembered  in  tho 
country  around  and  electrified  for  a  time  the  whole  com- 
jiunity. 


/I 

I 


THE  MAGIC  MIKKOR. 


V 

J 

t 

I 

i 
i 
i 


U 
> 


CHAPTER  II. 

TITK  MA(iI(;  MIllKOU. 

_  turnoil  my  oyos,  unci  as  I  turned  surveyed 
An  awful  vision." 

TiiF.  sun  was  sinking  in  tlie  far  west  as  t  lie  little  schooner 
Evening  Star  went  dancing  over  tiie  i)rigiit  waves  toward 
C'ainnbeirs  Isle.  Ca})tain  (Juy  ('anipWell  stood  leaning 
negligently  over  the  talTi-ail,  solacing  himself  with  n 
ci^'ar  and  conversing  at  intervals  with  a  slight,  somewhat 
haughty-looking  young  man,  who  stood  beside  him,  watch- 
ing the  waves  splashing  as  they  sped  along.  No  two  could 
Le  more  opposite  as  far  as  looks  went  than  those  two,  yet 
both  were  hiindsoiue  and  oL'  aij^iit.  the  same  age. 

Fiike  all  of  his  race,  young  Cam})bell  was  very  tall,  and 
(lark  as  a  S|)aniard.  Jlis  short,  bhick,  curling  hair  shad- 
owed a  forehead  high,  bold  and  commanding.  Dark,  keen, 
proud  eyes  (lashed  from  beneath  j<'tty  eyebrows,  and  the 
firm,  resolute  moutli  gave  to  his  dark  face  a  look  almost 
fierce.  His  iigure  was  exquisitely  ])n)|)orlioiifd,  and  there 
was  a  certain  bold  frankness  mingled  with  a  reckless  devil- 
may-care  expression  in  his  fine  face,  that  atoned  for  his 
swarthy  com])lexion  and  stern  brows. 

His  companion  was  a  tall,  elegant  young  man,  with  an 
air  of  proud  superiority  about  him,  as  though  lit>  were 
**  somebody  "  and  knew  it.  His  complexion  wiis  fair  as  a 
lady's,  and  would  have  been  eireminate  but  for  the  dark, 
bold  eyes,  and  his  dashing  iiir  generally.  There  was  some- 
tliing  particularly  winning  in  hishan(1some  iace.espo(Mally 
when  he  smiled,  that  lit  up  his  whole  countenance  with 
new  beauty.  Yet,  withal,  there  was  a  certain  faithless 
expression  about  the  finely  formed  mouth  that  would 
have  led  a  close  observer  to  liesitato  b(^fore  trustinjx  him 
too  far.  This  reader,  was  Mr.  \\'i]lard  Drunimoiid,  a 
voung  half-American,  half-Parisian,  :ind  heir  to  one  of  the 
finest  estates  in  the  Old  Dominion.  The  hist  five  years  he 
had  passed  in  Paris,  and  when  he  was  thinking  of  return- 
ing home,  he  had  encountered  Captain  C-ampbell  and  his 
sister.     Fond  of  luxury  and  ease  as  the  young  patriciaa 


1 


10 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


was,  ho  gave  up  all,  after  that,  for  tlie  attraction  he  dis- 
covered aboiird  the  schooner  Evening  Star.  And  Captain 
Cani))l)ell,  phnised  with  !iis  new  friend,  invited  him  to  cross 


tl 


ic  ocean  wi 


th  J 


iini,  a 


nd 


s])en( 


few 


wee 


KS 


wit] 


1  hmi  in 


liis  anci'Strai  iionie,  whitlier  he  was  obliged  to  stop  while 
some  repairs  wcrt^  being  made  in  )iis  vessel — which  invita- 
tion Willard  Drummond,  notidng  U)lli,  ac('e])led. 

"  A\'ell,  ('ani]»b(!ll,  how  is  that  pat  lent  of  yours  thiseve- 


nmcf 


iiHluirei 


i  I) 


rumnioiu 


alier  a  i):ins( 


t( 


'M)on't  know,"  re|»lied    Capti.in    Campbell,  carelessly  ; 
I   haven't  seen  iiim  since  morning]:.     Svbil  is  with  liim 


now. 


Hy  th 


the  way,  where  did  you  pick  him  up  ?  He  was 
not  one  of  your  crew,  1  understand." 

'*No;  I  met  him  in  Liverpool.  He  came  to  me  one 
day,  and  asked  nu;  to  tji'vo  him  home.  I  rej)lied  I  luid  no 
accommodations,  and  won  hi  much  rati)er  not  be  troubled 
with  passengei'S.  JJowevcr,  he  pleaded  so  hard  for  me  to 
accommodate  hiiii,  and  looked  so  like  somclhing  from  the 
other  world  all  the  time,  that  J  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse 
the  poor  fellow.  Jiefore  we  had  been  three  days  out  at  sea 
lie  was  taken  ill,  and  has  been  raving  and  shrieking  ever 
since,  as  you  know." 

'*  What  do  you  sup[H)se  is  the  matter  with  liiin  ?  " 

*' AVell,  I  haven't  mueh  cxi)erience  as  nurse  myself,  but 
I  think  it's  brain  fever  or  something  of  that  kind  ;  Sybil, 
liowever,  thinks  that  bitter  remorse  for  something  he  lias 
done  is  preying  on  his  mind;  and  girls  always  know  best 
in  these  cases." 

*'  lie  is,  if  I  may  judge  by  his  looks,  of  luunble  stjition, 
rather,"  said  Mr.  Drummond.  in  an  indiil'erent  tone. 

''  Yes  ;  Miere  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,  though  he 
ap])ears  to  have  plenty  of  money." 

"  Has  he  "[iven  his  name  :  " 

*' Yes;  l^ichard   Grove." 

*'  Hum  !  Well,  it  would  be  unpleasant  to  have  him  die 
on  hoard,  of  course."  said  Drummond. 

"  Oh,  I  tliink  iie'll  live  to  reach  our  destination  ;  lie  does 
not  a])pear  to  be  sinking  very  fast." 

*'  ^Ye  must  be  now  quite  near  this  island  hon.c  of  yours, 
aptain  Campbell  ;  I  giow  impatient  to  see  it." 


C 


**  We  shall  reach  it  about  moonrise  to-night,  if  the  wind 
holds  as  it  is  now." 


v! 


THE  MAGIC  MIRROR. 


11 


i 


"  And  wliiit,  may  I  ask,  do  you  intend  to  do  with  this 
—this  Riohurd  (Jrovo,  when  you  get  tliore  ?  Will  you 
take  him  into  your  Robinson  Crusoe  castle,  and  nurso 
him  until  he  gets  well,  as  that  enter])risin<i:  canoe-builder 
did  Friday's  fatiier  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  There  is  an  old  lady  on  the  island 
who  is  never  so  happy  as  when  she  has  some  one  io  nurse. 
I  think  we'll  consign  him  to  her," 

*'Thon  there  is  another  habitation  on  the  island  beside 
yours?  "said  Dujnmoiul,  looking  up  with  more  interest 
than  he  had  yet  manifested. 

'•Yes  ;  old  Mrs.  Tom  ;  a  distant  connection  of  our 
fannly,  I  believe.  And,  by  the  wav,  Drummond,  there  is 
a  pretty  little  girl  in  the  case.  I  suppose  that  will  interest 
you  more  than  the  old  woman." 

"  Pretty  girls  are  an  old  story  by  this  time,"  suid  Drum- 
mond,  with  a  yawn. 

'•  Yes,  with  sucii  a  renowned  lady-killer  as  you,  no 
doubt." 

"  I  never  did  see  ])ut  one  girl  in  the  world  worth  the 
trouble  of  loving,"  said  Drummond,  looking  thoughtfully 
into  the  water. 

''  Ah  I  what  a  paragon  she  must  have  hvou.  May  I  ask 
what  quarter  of  the  globe  has  the  honor  of  containing  so 
peerless  a  beauty  ?" 

y  I  never  said  «he  was  a  beauty,  mou  ami.  l^iit  never 
mind  that.  When  do  you  expect  to  be  ready  for  sea 
again  ?" 

''  As  soon  as  possible— in  a  few  weeks,  perhaps— for  I 
fear  we'll  all  soon  get  tired  of  the  loneliness  of  the 
place." 

''  You  ought  to  be  pretty  well  accustomed  to  its  loneli- 
ness by  this  time." 

''  Not  I,  faith.  It's  now  three  years  since  I  luive  been 
there." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  1  thought  you  Campbells  were  too 
much  attached  to  vour  ancestral  home  to  desert  it  so  lon^- 
as  that."  "  '^ 

''Well,  ifs  a  dreary  place,  and  I  have  siK;ii  an  attach- 
ment for  a  wild,  exciting  life,  that  J  positively  could  not 
endure  it.  I  should  die  of  stagnation.  As  for  Sybil,  my 
wild,  impulsive  sister,  she  would  now  as  soon  think  of  en- 
tering a  convent  as  passing  her  life  there." 


12 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


Ill 


**  Yet  you  said  it  was  by  partly  licr  request  you  wero 
goinpf  there  now." 

•*  Yes  ;  she  expressed  a  wisli  to  show  you  the  phice."  A 
sliglit  llusli  of  pU^isure  colored  the  clear  face  of  Druni- 
mond.  **  I  don't  know  what's  got  into  Sybil  lately,"' con- 
tinued her  brother.  '*  I  never  saw  a  girl  so  clianged. 
Siie  used  to  be  the  craziest  leap-over-tlie-moon  nnidcap 
that  ever  existed  ;  now  she  is  growing  as  tame  as — littlo 
Ciiristie.'' 

Dnunmond's  fine  eyes  were  fixed  keen\"  on  the  frank, 
0})en  face  of  Captain  Campbell  ;  but  nothing  was  to  bo 
read  there  more  than  liis  words  contained.  With  a  pecu- 
liar smile  he  turned  away  and  said,  carelessly,  '"And  who 
is  this  little  Christie,  to  whom  you  refer  ?'' 

*'  She's  tlie  jirotcgce  of  the  old  lady  on  the  island — fair 
as  the  dream  of  an  opium-eater,  enchanting  as  a  houri, 
and  with  tiie  voice  of  an  angel." 

'*  Whew  !  the  bold  Captain  Campbell,  the  daring  de- 
scendant of  (Juy  the  Fearless,  has  lost  his  heart  at  last  !  " 
laughed  Willard  Drummond. 

"  Not  I,''  answered  Cuy,  carelessly.  '^  I  never  yet  saw 
a  wonnm  who  could  touch  r  y  heart,  and,  please  heaven, 
never  will.'' 

*'  Well,  here's  a  wonder — a  young  nnm  of  three-and- 
twenty,  and  never  in  love  !  Do  you  expect  mo  to  believe 
sucli  a  fable,  my  good  frieiul  ?" 

*"■  Ikdieve  or  not,  as  vou  will,  it  is  nevertheless  true  !  " 

''  Wiiat  I  do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  never  felt  the 
touch  of  the  grande  i)assion — the  slightest  symptom  of 
that  infectious  disorder  ?" 

**  ro(»h  I  boyish  fanCiCS  go  for  nothing.  I  have  now  and 
then  felt  a  queer  sensation  about  the  region  of  my  heart 
at  sight  of  sundry  faces  at  different  times  ;  but  as  for  be- 
ing fatally  and  incorrigibly  in  love — never,  on  my  honor  !" 

**  Well,  before  you  reach  the  age  of  thirty,  you'll  have 
a  different  story  to  tell,  or  I'm  mistaken  !" 

'^No;  there  is  no  danger,  I  fancy,  unless,  indeed."  ho 
added,  iixing  his  eyes  quizzically  on  Drummond's  hand- 
some face,  **  I  should  happen  to  meet  this  little  enchant- 
ress you  spoke  of  awhile  ago." 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  brow  of  his  companion  ;  but  it 
cleared  away  in  a  moment,  as  a  quick,  light  footste})  was 
heard  approaching,  and  the  next  instant,  Sybil  Campbell, 


THE  MAGIC  MIRROR. 


13 


■1 


the  hiiughty  daughter  of  a  hauglity  race,  stood  bright, 
dazzling  and  smiling  before  tliem. 

No  one  ever  looked  onc<j  in  the  face  of  Sybil  Campbell 
without  turning  to  gaze  again.  Peerlessly  beautiful  as 
she  was,  it  was  not  lier  beauty  that  would  startle  you,  but 
the  look  of  wild  power,  of  intense  daring,  of  fieree  pas- 
sions, of  unyielding  energy^  of  a  will  powerful  for  love  or 
hate,  of  a  njiture  loving,  passionate,  fiery,  impulsive  and 
daring,  yet  gentle,  winning  and  soft. 

She  might  have  been  seventeen  years  of  age — certainly 
not  more.  In  stature  sIk^  was  tall,  and  with  a  form  regally 
beautiful,  splendidly  developed,  with  a  haughty  grace 
peculiarly  her  own.  Her  face  was  perfectly  oval  ;  her 
complexion,  naturally  olive,  had  beun  tanned  by  sun  and 
wind  to  a  rich,  clear,  gipsy ish  darkness.  Her  hair,  that 
hung  in  a  profusion  of  long  curls,  was  of  jetty  blackness, 
now  flashing  with  sparks  of  light,  and  anon  sw'mming  in 
lifpiid  teiulerness.  Her  high,  bold  brow  might  have  be- 
come a  crown — certainly  it  was  regal  in  its  pride  and  scorn. 
Her  mouth,  which  was  the  oidy  voluptuous  feature  in  her 
face,  was  small,  with  full,  ripe,  red  lips,  rivaling  in  bloom 
the  deep  crimson  of  her  dark  cheeks. 

Her  dress  was  like  herself — odd  and  picturesque,  con- 
sisting of  a  short  skirt  of  black  silk,  a  bodice  of  crimson 
velvet,  with  gilt  buttons. 

She  held  in  one  hand  a  black  velvet  hat,  with  a  long 
sweeping  plume,  swinging  it  gaily  by  the  strings,  as  she 
came  toward  them.  She  was  a  strange,  wild-looking 
creature,  altogether  ;  yet  what  would  first  strike  an  ob- 
server was  her  queenly  air  of  pride,  her  lofty  hauteur, 
her  almost  unendurable  arrogance.     For   lier  unbending 

firide,  as  well  as  for  her  surpassing  beauty,  the  haughty 
ittle  lady  had  obtained  even  in  childhood  the  title  of 
*"  Queen  of  the  Isle."  And  queenly  she  looked  with  her 
noble  brow,  her  flashing,  glorious  eyes,  her  dainty,  curving 
lips,  her  graceful,  statuesque  form — in  every  sense  of  the 
word,  *' a  queen  of  noble  natures  crowning." 

And  Willard  Drummond,  passionate  admirer  of  be^.uty 
as  he  was,  what  thought  he  of  this  dazzling  creature  ? 
He  leaned  negligently  still  against  the  talTrail,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  her  sparkling,  sun-bright  face,  noting  every 
look  and  gesture  as  one  might  gaze  on  sonie  strange,  beau- 
tiful mind,  half  in  fear,  half  in  love,  but  wholly  in  adniira- 


14 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


tion.  Yes,  he  loved  lier,  or  Vliought  he  did  ;  and  gazing 
with  him  on  tlie  moonlit  v.aves,  when  the  solemn  stars 
shone  serenely  above  him,  he  had  told  her  so,  and  slie  had 
believed  him.  And  slie,  wild,  nntutorec'.  child  of  nature, 
wlio  can  tell  the  deep  devotion,  the  incense  passion,  tlie 
fiery,  all-absorbing  love  for  him  tliat  iilled  her  impulsive 
young  heart  ? 

"  Love  was  to  her  impassioned  soul 
Not  as  witli  others  a  mere  part 
Of  her  existence  ;  but  the  w  hole — 
The  very  life-breath  of  her  heart." 


As  she  advanced,  Willard  Drummond  started  up,  say- 
ing, gaily  : 

*'  Welcome  back,  Miss  Sybil.  I  thought  the  su!ilight 
had  deserted  us  altogetlier  ;  but  you  have  brought  it  back 
in  your  eyes.'' 

"  How's  your  patient,  Sybil  ?"  said  Captain  Campbell 
— who,  not  being  in  love,  found  Mr.  Drumniond's  liigh- 
flown  compliments  very  tiresome  sometimes. 

"  ]\[uch  worse,  I  am  afraid,"  she  answered,  in  a  pecu- 
liarly musical  voice.  -'I  do  not  tliink  lie  will  live  to  see 
the  morrow's  sun.  His  ravings  are  friglitful  to  hear — 
some  terrible  crimes  seem  to  be  weighing  him  down  as 
much  as  disease." 

"  After  all,  the  human  soul  is  an  awful  possession  for  a 
guilty  man,"  said  Captain  Campbell,  thoughtfully. 
''  Things  can  be  smoothed  over  during  life,  but  when  one 
comes  to  die " 

"They  feel  what  a  retributive  justice  is,  I  suppose," 
said  Drummond,  in  his  customarv  careless  tone:  ''and 
apropos  to  that,  somebody  will  suffer  terrible  remorse  after 
X  die.  I  am  to  be  murdered,  if  there  is  any  truth  in 
fortune-tcllins:." 

lie  spoke  lightly,  with  a  half  smile  ;  hut  Sybil's  face 
])aled  involuntarily,  as  she  exclaimed  : 

'•'  Murdered,  did  you  say  ?  Who  could  have  predicted 
anything  so  dreadful  ?  " 

"  An  old  astrologer,  or  enchanter,  or  wizard  of  some 
kind  in  Germany,  when  1  was  thei'e.  The  affair  seems  so 
improbable,  so  utterly  absurd,  in  short,  that  I  never  liko 
to  allude  to  it." 


THE  MAGIC  MIRROR.  15 

'<  You  are  not  fool  eiiougli  to  believe  such  uonseuse,  I 
hope,    said  Captaia  Cani])bell. 

;^I  don't  kno^v  as  it  is  nonsense.  There  are  more 
things  in  lieaven  and  earth  tlian  are  dreamed  of  in 
philosophy,  you  know." 

''  Yes  ;  I  was  sure  you  would  quote  tliat— everv  one 
does  when  advancing  some  nbsurd  (k>ctrine.  But  it's  all 
the  greatest  stuff,  nevertheless." 

'•  But  did  lie  tell  you  whom  you  wore  to  be " 

Sybd  stopped  short  ;  even  in  jest  slie  coukl  not  m6- 
nounce  the  word.  ^ 

"-MurckTo.I  by  ?  "  said  Willu.-d,  quiotly  finisliiui;  the 
sent^uee  for  her.     '■  No,  he  told  n,o  n„il,i„g.     1  Taw  it 

"  Saw  it !     How  ?  r  do  not  imderstand." 

';  ^}\  "'«  st"'-.V  is  lianlly  worth  relating,  a„d  ought  not 

to  ho   old  ,n  theprc-si-no.  of  sncl,  H.k,.|,tiS  as  Cantrmi  (     y 

Can.pbol  , ;'  sukI   i>r,unn,ond,  rnnniny'  his  linoJrs  li-ht  y 

through  Ills  ihu-k,  glossy  locks.  ".-.'"-'y 

"rieaven  forbid  I  siionld  wait  to  be  inniotod  bvit'" 
said  Captain  Oainiibell,  starting  np.  "J  will  ivliovo  viu 
of  my  presence,  and  allow  you  to  entertain  mv  su  ,eS 
tio.s  sister  here  with  your  awful  dosliiiv,  of  Vhich  slio 
Will  doublle.^i  believe  every  word.-' 

"I  should  be  sorry  to  believe  anvtliiiig  so  droadfiil  " 
said  Sybil,  gravely  ;  "  but  I  do  think -there  are  so,  fe  o'd 
ones  to  whom  the  f  iture  has  been  revealed.  I  wish! 
could   meet  them,  and  find  out   what  it  has  in  store  for 

XIX  \^  a 

angei  like  you:'    '  """  ^'  "°"""^'  '""'  ^'''  ''"^  ^" 

at  hiTwor'fs'."'^'"'  ""''"'^  '''''''  J"''''"'  '"^■'^  ••"'^'  "■'^""Pl' 
"Do  yon  believe   in   omens?"   .she   said,    hnighin-dv 
-See  how  brightly  and  beautifully  yonder  moon  is  r  i  h  g 
^ow,  If  ,t  reaches  the  arch  of  heaven  unefciuled,  I  si latl 
believe  your  prediction." 

skv^'iml^H,''"   '''°'''  "/'""'  "'"'"'   l'"^^''^'   athwart  the 
6kj,  .md  the  moon  was  obscured  in  darkness 

Invoinnfn  -i    ,"^'"  '"""  "^''^J''"'  H'"'  "t  tl'«  'Iraul  omen. 
L^Sa'tSy!""^'''  DnunmondX  who,  also,  had 


16 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"  Heaven  avert  the  omen  ! "  she  cried,  with  a  shudder. 
**  Oil,  Willard !  the  unclouded  moon  grew  dark  even 
while  I  spoke." 

"  And  now  the  cloud  is  past,  and  it  sails  on  brighter 
than  ever,''  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  See,  fairest  Sybil,  all 
is  calm  and  peaceful  once  more.  My  prediction  will  be 
verified,  after  all." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  looked  so  intensely  relieved, 
that  he  laughed.     Sybil  blushed  vividly  as  slie  said  : 

"  I  know  you  must  think  me  weak  and  child isli  ;  but  I 
am  superstitious  by  nature.  Dreams,  inspirations  and 
presentiments,  that  no  one  else  tliinks  of,  are  all  vivid 
realities  to  me.  But  you  promised  to  tell  me  the  German 
wizard's  prediction  concerning  your  future;  so,  pray,  go 
on." 

"  AVell,  let  me  see,''  said  Willard  Drummond,  leaning 
his  head  on  his  hand.  '*  It  is  no  ^  three  years  ago  that  a 
celebrated  Egyptian  fortune-teller  visited  the  town  in 
Cermany  where  I  resided.  His  fame  soon  spread  far  and 
wide,  and  crowds  of  the  credulous  came  from  every  part 
to  visit  him.  lie  could  not  speak  a  word  of  any  language 
but  his  own  :  but  he  had  an  interpreter  who  did  all  the 
talking  necessary,  which  was  very  little. 

"  I  was  then  at  a  celebrated  university  and,  with  two  or 
three  of  my  fellow-students,  resolved,  one  day,  to  visit  the 
wizard.  Arrived  at  his  house,  we  were  shown  into  a  large 
room,  and  called  up  one  by  one  into  the  presence  of  the 
Egyptian. 

"  Our  object  in  going  was  more  for  sport  than  anything 
else  ;  but  when  we  saw  the  first  who  was  called — a  wild, 
reckless,  young  fellow,  who  feared  nothing  earthly — return 
pale  and  serious,  our  mirth  was  at  an  end.  One  by  one 
the  otliers  were  called,  and  all  came  back  grave  and 
thoughtful.     By  some  chance,  I  was  the  last. 

''  I  am  not  like  you,  bright  Sybil,  naturally  supersti- 
tious ;  but  I  confess,  when  the  interpreter  ushered  me  into 
the  presence  of  this  wizard,  I  felt  a  sort  of  chilly  awe 
creeping  over  me,  lie  was  the  most  singular-looking 
being  I  ever  beheld.  His  face  was  exactly  like  one  wlio 
has  been  for  some  days  dead — a  sort  of  dark-greenish 
white,  with  pale  blue  lips,  and  sharp  Asiatic  features.  His 
eyes,  black,  and,  piercingly  sharp,  looked  forth  from  two 
deep  caverns  of  sockets,  and  seemed  the  only  living  feature 


THE  MAGIC  MIRROR. 


17 


ho 


in  his  ghastly  face.  There  were  cahlrons,  and  lizards,  and 
cross-bones,  and  tame  serpents,  and  curious  devices  carved 
on  tlie  walls,  ceiling  and  lloor,  like  all  other  such  places, 
and  the  wliite,  grinning  skulls  that  were  scattered  about 
formed  a  hideously  revolting  sight  in  tlnit  darkened  room. 

'*The  Egyptian  stood  before  a  smoking  caldron  and, 
drawn  up  to  his  full  height,  his  size  appeared  almost 
colossal.  His  dress  was  a  long,  bhick  robe,  all  woven  over 
with  scorpions,  and  snakes,  and  other  equally  pleasing 
objects,  that  seemed  starting  out  dazzling  white  from  tliis 
dark  background.  Altogether,  the  room  looked  so  like  a 
charnel  house,  and  the  wizard  so  like  asui)ernatural  being, 
that  I  am  not  asnamed  to  own  I  felt  myself  growing 
nervous  as  I  looked  around. 

"  The  interpreter,  who  stood  behind,  opened  the  scene 
by  asking  me  my  name,  age,  birthplace,  and  divers  other 
questions  of  a  like  nature,  whicii  lie  wrote  down  iu  some 
sort  of  hieroglyphics  and  handed  to  the  Egyptian.  Then, 
bidding  me  advance  and  keep  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  caldrou 
and  not  speak  a  word,  the  interpreter  left  the  room. 

"  My  heart  beat  faster  than  was  its  wont  as  I  approached 
this  wild  being,  and  found  myself  completely  alone  with 
him  in  this  ghostly,  weird  place.  lie  took  a  handful  of 
what  I  imagined  to  be  incense  of  some  kind,  and  threw  it 
on  the  red,  living  coals,  muttering  some  strange  sounds  iu 
an  nnknown  tongue  as  he  did  so.  Presently  a  cloud  of 
bmoke  arose,  dense,  black  and  suffocating,  filling  the  whole 
room  wiUi  the  gloom  of  Tartarus.  Slowly,  as  endowed 
with  instinct,  it  lifted  itself  up  and  spread  itself  out  before 
me.     And  looking  up,  1  beheld " 

Willard  Drummond  paused,  as  if  irresolute  whether  to 
reveal  the  rest  or  not  ;  but  Sybil  grasped  his  arm,  and  iu 
a  voice  that  was  fairly  hoarse  with  intense  excitement, 
said  :  '•'  Go  on." 

'^I  saw,"  he  continued,  looking  beyond  her,  as  if 
describing  something  then  passing  before  him,  "  the 
interior  of  a  church  thronged  with  people.  Flowers  were 
strewn  along  the  aisles,  and  I  seemed  to  hear  faintly  the 
grand  cadences  of  atriumphahhymn.  A  clergyman,  book 
in  hand,  stood  before  a  bridal  pair,  performing  the  mar- 
riage ceremony.  The  features  of  the  man  of  God  are 
indelibly  impressed  on  my  memory  ;  but  the  two  who 
stood  before  him  had  their  backs  toward  me.     For  about 


18 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


five  seconds  tlicy  remained  tlius  stationary,  and  then  it 
began  to  grow  more  and  more  indistinct ;  tlie  forms  grew 
shadowy  and  undefined,  and  began  to  disappear.  Just 
before  tliev  vanished  altouetlier,  the  faces  of  the  wedded 
pair  turned  for  an  instant  toward  me  ;  and  in  the  bride- 
groom, Sybil,  1  beheld  myself.  The  va])or  lifted  and 
lifted,  until  all  was  gone,  and  notliing  was  to  be  seen  but 
the  black  walls  of  the  room,  and  tlie  glowing,  fiery  coals 
in  the  caldron. 

*'  Again  the  Egyptian  threw  the  incense  on  the  fire, 
and  again  mumbled  his  unintelligible  jargon.  Again  the 
thick  black  smoke  arose,  filling  the  room,  and  again  be- 
came stationary,  forming  a  shadowy  panorama  before  me. 
This  time  I  saw  a  prison  cell — dark,  dismal  and  noisome. 
A  rough  straw  pallet  stood  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
a  pitclier  of  water  and  a  loaf — orthodox  prison  fare  from 
time  immemorial.  On  the  ground,  chained,  as  it  were, 
to  the  Avail,  groveled  a  woman,  in  shining  bridal  robes, 
lier  long,  midnight  tresses  trailing  on  the  foul  floor.  No 
words  can  describe  to  you  the  utter  despair  and  mortal 
anguish  depicted  in  her  crouching  attitude.  I  stood 
spellbound  to  the  spot,  unable  to  move,  in  breathlcos  in- 
terest. Then  the  scene  began  to  fade  away.  The  pro- 
strate figure  lifted  its  head,  and  I  beheld  the  face  of  her 
who,  a  moment  before,  seemed  to  stand  beside  me  at  the 
altar.  But  no  words  of  mine  can  describe  to  you  the 
mortal  woe,  the  unutterable  despair  in  that  haggard  but 
beautiful  face.  Sybil  !  Sybil  !  it  will  liaunt  me  to  my 
dying  day.  I  put  out  my  hand  as  if  to  retain  her,  but  iu 
that  instant  all  disnppeared." 

Once  more  Willard  Drummond  paused ;  this  time  he 
was  deadly  pale,  and  his  eyes  were  wild  and  excited. 
Sybil  stood  nearliim,  her  great,  black,  mystic  eyes  dilated, 
every  trace  of  color  fading  from  her  face,  leaving  even 
her  iips  as  pale  as  death. 

"The  third  time  this  strange  enchanter  went  through 
the  same  ceremony  as  before,"  continued  he  ;  "and,  as  in 
the  previous  cases,  a  new  scene  appeared  before  me  ;  now 
the  time  appeared  to  be  night ;  and  the  place  a  dark, 
lonesome  wood.  A  furious  storm  of  lightning  and 
thunder,  and  rain  was  raging,  and  the  trees  creaked  and 
bent  in  the  fierce  wind.  On  the  ground  lay  the  dead  body 
of  a  man,   weltering  in  blood.     A  dark,  crimson  stream 


THE  MAGTC  MIT^ROR. 


19 


I  tlien  it 
'ins  grew 
r.  Just 
wed(]ed 
lie  brido- 
ted  und 
seen  but 
'17  coals 

tlio  fire, 
;'din  tlie 
:iain  be- 
bro  me. 
oisome. 
10  otlier 
re  f  j"om 
't  were, 

robes, 
r.  No 
mortal 

stood 
:tjs  in- 
le  pro- 
of lier 
at  tlie 
)u  tlie 
rd  but 

o  my 
but  iu 

Tie  he 
cited, 
a  tod, 
even 

ough 
as  in 

now 
lark, 

and 

and 
body 
'earn 


1 


'.A 


flowed  from  a  great,  friglitful  gash  in  his  head,  from 
wiiicii  tile  life  sceiucd  to  luive  just  gone.  As  tlie  white 
face  of  the  murdered  man  was  upturned  to  the  liglit— cut, 
bloodv  and  disfigured  as  it  was.  Sybil — I  recognized  my- 
self once  more.  As  heaven  hears  me,  I  saw  it  as  plainly  as 
J  see  youder  ]>ale,  fair  moon  now.  A  wiiite,  ghostly  form, 
wlietiier  of  woman  or  spirit  1  know  not.  seemed  hovering 
ne;i.r,  darting,  as  it  were,  in  and  out  among  the  trees. 
Even  as  T  gazed  it  grow  thin  and  slnulowy,  until  all  was 
gone  again. 

'•  ]'\.)r  the  fourth  and  last  time,  the  Egy})tian  threw  the 
strange  incense  on  tlie  ^'re,  and  '  spoke  the  words  of 
power,'  and  a  new  vision  met  my  horrified  gaze.  J  seemed 
to  behold  an  immense  concourse  of  })eoj)le,  a  vast  mob, 
swaying  to  and  fro,  in  the  wildest  excitement.  A  low, 
hoarse  growl,  as  01  distant  thunder,  ])ass(M|  at  intervals 
through  the  vast  crowd,  and  every  eye  was  raised  to  an 
object  al)ove  them.  J  looked  up,  too,  and  beheld  u  sight 
that  seemed  freezing  the  very  blood  in  my  veins.  Jt  was 
a  scaffold,  and  standing  on  it,  with  the  ignominious  halter 
around  her  white,  beantiful  neck,  was  sin;  who  had  stood 
beside  me  at  the  altar,  whom  I  Inid  seen  chained  in  her 
l)rison  cell,  doomed  to  die  by  the  hand  of  the  ])ul)lic  hang- 
man now.  Iler  beantiful  hands  were  stretched  out  wildlv, 
imploringly,  to  tlie  crowd  below,  wlio  only  hooted  her  in 
her  agony  and  despair.  The  executioner  led  her  to  the 
fa^^-.d  drop,  a  great  shont  arose  from  the  crowd,  then  all 
faded  away  ;  and,  looking  up  as  if  from  an  appalling  dream, 
1  saw  the  interpreter  beckoning  me  from  the  door.  How 
I  reeled  from  the  room,  with  throbbing  brow  and  feverish 
pulse,  I  know  not.  Evcrytliing  seemed  swimming  around 
me :  Jind,  in  a  state  of  the  wildest  excitement,  1  was 
Imrried  home  by  my  companions.  The  next  day  the 
Egvptian  left  the  citv,  and  where  he  went  after  1  never 
heard.  Such  was  the  glimpse  of  the  future  I  beheld.  It 
was  manv  months  after  before  1  completely  recovered 
from  the  shock  I  received.  How  to  account  for  it.  1  do 
not  know.  Certain  1  am  that  I  beheld  it,  truly,  as  J  have 
told  it  in  every  particular — for  the  impression  it  made 
npon  meat  the  time  was  so  powerful,  tlijit  everything  con- 
nected with  it  is  indelibly  engraven  on  my  memory.  It 
may  seem  strange,  absnrd,  impossible  ;  but  that  1  have 
nothing  to  do  with  ;  I  only  know  1  saw  it,  incredible  as  it 


20 


THE  QUEKX  OF  THE  ISLE 


seems.     But  good  heaven  !    Sybil,  dearest,  yon  are  ill— 
faintiiiJ^ !  " 

l\ile,  treinbliiig  and  excited,  the  once  fearless  Syl)il 
Campbell  clung  to  his  arm,  white  with  vague,  siciveiiin;; 
liorror.  Sui)erHtitious  to  an  unusual  degree,  an  awful 
presentiment  liad  clutched  licr  lieart,  and,  for  a  moment, 
siie  seemed  dying  in  liis  arms. 

Sybil  !  Sybil  !  my  dearest  love  ! "  he  said,  in  alarm, 


(( 


'Mvhat  is  it?" 

'"'Nothing — nothing,"  she  answered,  in  a  tremnlous 
voice  ;  '*  but,  oh,  Willard!  do  you  believe  tlie  prediction?" 

'*  Strange,  wild  girl  tliat  you  are  !  lias  this  idle  tale  fright- 
ened you  so  ?"  smiling  at  her  wild,  dilated  eyes. 


<t 


If  it  should  prove  true,"  she  said,  covering  her  face, 
with  a  shudder.  "  Willard,  tell  me — do  you  believe 
it?" 

*'  My  dark-eyed  darling,  how  can  I  tell  whether  to  be- 
lieve it  or  not  ?  It  has  not  come  true,  and  there  seems 
no  likelihood  of  its  ever  doing  so.  Do  not  think  of  it  any 
more  ;  if  I  had  thought  it  would  have  unnerved  you  so,  I 
-would  never  have  told  vou." 

"  But,  Willard,  did  any  of  his  other  predictions  prove 
true  ?  " 

"  I  had  rather  not  answer  that  question,  Sybil, "he  said, 
while  a  cloud  darkened  for  a  moment  hi^j  fine  face. 

"  You  must  tell  me  !  "  she  cried,  stavting  up,  and  look- 
ing at  him  vith  her  large,  lustrous  eyes. 

**  Well,  then — yes,"  said  Drummond,  re]  ic^antly. 
"  Young  Vaughn,  one  of  those  who  accompanied  me,  saw 
a  funeral  procession,  and  himself  robed  for  the  grave, 
lying  in  the  coffin.  Five  weeks  after  he  was  accidentally 
shot." 

She  put  up  her  arm  in  a  wild,  vrgue  sort  of  a  way,  as  if 
to  ward  off  some  approaching  danger. 

"  Oh,  Willard  !  this  is  dreadful— dreadful  !  What  if  all 
he  predicted  should  come  to  pass  ! " 

*'  Well,  I  should  be  obliged  to  do  the  best  I  could. 
What  will  be,  will  be — you  know.  But  I  have  no  such  fear. 
Xonsense,  Sybil  !  A  Campbell  of  the  Isle  trembling  thus 
at  imaginary  danger  ! — the  ghost  of  Guy  the  Fearless  will 
start  from  his  grave,  if  he  discovers  it  !" 

The  color  came  proudly  back  to  her  cheek  at  his  banter- 
ing words,  as  she  said,  more  coldly  and  calmly  : 


f 


are  ill^ 

^ss  Sybil 
iokeiiin;r 
Lii  awful 
iioiiient, 

I  alarm, 

emu  I  on  3 

etion?'' 

efriglit- 

er  face, 
believe 

r  to  be- 
i  seems 
f  it  any 
n\  so,  I 

3  prove 

e  said, 

look- 

antly. 
3,  saw 
P'ave, 
!i  tally 

as  if 

if  all 

3nld. 

fear. 

thns 

will 

iter- 


TlIE  MANIAC'S  CURSE.  81 

"■^For  myself,  I  conld  never  tremble  ;  but  for "  She 

paused  and  lier  beautiful  lip  quivered. 

"  For  me,  then,  my  (U-ar  love,  those  fears  are,"  he  said, 
tenderly.  '*A  thousand  thanks  for  this  proof  of  your 
love  ;  Init,  believe  me,  the  eause  is  oidy  inui<^nnary.  Why, 
Sybil,  I  bad  nearly  forgotten  all  about  tbe  matter,  until 
your  brother's  renuirk  to-night  recalleil  it  to  my  memory. 
Fromise  me,  now,  that  you  will  never  think  of  it  more- 
much  less  speak  of  it." 

''  Tell  me  one  thing  rnore,  Willard,  and  I  promise — 
only  one,"  said  Sybil,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
and  looking  uj)  in  hij  face  earnestly,  while  her  voice 
trembled  in  spite  of  all  her  eiforts. 

*'  Well,"  he  said,  anxiously. 

"  Did  you  recognize  the  face  of  the  person  yon  saw  at 
the  altar,  and  who  afterward  died  on  the  scaffold  ?" 

He  was  silent,  and  looked  with  a  troubled  eye  over  the 
shining  waters. 

'^  Willard,  dearest  Willard  !  tell  me,  have  vou  ever  seeu 
her  ?  " 

''  Why  will  you  question  me  thus,  dearest  Sybil  ?" 

"Answer  me  truly,  Willard,  on  your  honor." 

*'Well,  then,  dearest,  I  have." 

Sybil  drew  her  breath  quick  and  short,  and  held  his 
arm  with  a  convulsive  grasp. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  she  asked. 

Willard  turned,  and  looking  steadily  in  her  wild,  search- 
ing eves,  replied,  in  a  thrilling  whisper; 

"  You,  Sybil— you  !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  maniac's  curse. 

"  Her  wretched  brain  pa  ve  way. 

And  slie  becanie  a   wreo  :  at  random  driven, 

Without  one  glimpse  of  leasou  or  of  heaven." 

—Lallah  Rookh. 

The  schooner  Evening  Star  lay  at  anchor  in  a  little 
rock-bound  inlet,  on  th.e  northei'u  side  of  tlie  island  pre- 
viously referred  to.  A  boat  had  just  put  off  from  her, 
containing  Captain  Guy  Campbell,  Mr.  Willard  Drum- 
mond,  Sybil  Campbell,  and  the  sick  passenger,  Richard 


23 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


(jirovc.  llo  l;iy  on  a  sort  of  iimttress,  lialf  supported  by 
(Jiiptiiin  (.';impl)oll  ;  und  in  the  pule,  cold  moonli^lit.  looked 
wan  iiud  eiiiii'3i}ited  to  i\  feiirful  de^^ree.  The  features, 
sharply  detiruid,  were  like  tliose  of  u  skeleton,  and  thcdr 
ghastly  ri^ddity  seemed  like  that  of  ji  corpse,  lint  life,  in- 
tensely huniint]:  life,  shone  in  the  wild,  troubled  eyes. 
AVJllard  J)runnnond  and  Syl)il  sat  talkini^  together  in  low 
tones  at  the  other  end  of  the  boat,  fearful  of  disturbing 
the  dying  man. 

As  the  bojit  touched  tlio  shore,  Drnnimond  leaped  out, 
and  held  out  his  hand  to  Sybil  ;  but  the  wild  sea  nyni}>h, 
declining  tlic  needless  aid,  sprang  liglitly  out,  and  stood 
beside  bini. 

The  figure  of  a  woman,  who  had  been  standing  on  a 
rock  watching  their  ap])roach,  now  came  forward,  exclaim- 
ing delightedly  : 

"  Laws-a-massey,  Miss  Sybil  !  Who  ever  s'posed  we'd 
see  you  here  again  ?  Where  hev  ycu  been  to  this  long 
time  ?  " 

''My   dear  Mrs.   Tom  !"  said  Sybil,  smilingly  holding 


out  her  hand,  *' I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  unere  nave 
I  been  is  a  troublesome  question  to  answer,  seeing  that  I 
liave  heen  almost  everywhere  you  could  mention  !" 

'^  Laws,  now  !  hev  you  ^'  'Spect  yon  had  nice  times 
sailin'  round,  though  it  does  seem  odd  how  you  can  stand 
all  the  seasickness  you  must  hev  come  through.  'Tain't 
every  young  critter  would  do  it.  But  then  you  alius  was 
ditferent  from  most  young*  folks.  (Jemini  !  how  you've 
growed,  and  how  handsome  you've  got  !  Jest  as  pooty  as 
a  pictur  !  and  that,  I  s'pose  is  young  jNLaster  (Jny,"  con- 
tinued the  loquacious  newcomer,  eagerly,  as  the  young 
captain  leaped  lightly  ashore. 

Sybil  nodded,  and  blushed  slightly,  as  she  encountered 
the  gaze  of  Drummond,  who  stood  watching  jMrs.  'J'om, 
with  a  half  smile  of  amusement  on  his  fine  face. 

"  M.'ister  Guy  !"  said  tlie  officious  Mrs.  Tom.  bustling 
forward,  'S'ou  hain't  forgotten  your  old  aunty,  I  hope? 
My  gracious  I  you've  got  as  tall  as  a  hop-pole  !  Growed 
out  of  my  knowledge  altogether  !  " 

"  Wliy,  Mrs.  'I'om  !  is  it  possible  ?  "  exclaimed  Captain 
Guy,  catching  her  hand  in  his  hearty  grasp.  ''  Looking 
as  young  and  smart  as  ever,  too  ;  and  as  fresh  and  breezy 
as  a  May  morning  !     Ton  my  word,  Fm  delighted  to  see 


THE  ^[AXIAC'S  CURSE. 


23 


>orfo(l  by 
t.  lookod 
fc.'ituri's, 
11(1  Mioir 
t  life,  in- 
t'd  cyos. 

T  ill    \()\y 

^tui'birig 

■>o(l  out, 
nyjiij)!), 
d  stood 

ii;t  on  a 
xclaiiii- 

fl  we'd 
is  long 

oldiiig 
0  liHve 
tJiat  I 

tijiios 
stand 
Fain't 
s  was 
ou've 
ty  as 
con- 
oung 

ered 
Tom, 


rling 
)pe  ? 
•  wed 


tain 
ing 
ezy 
see 


vou  looking  so  well  !     JIow  jiro  pretty  Christie  and  Master 
'Carl  ?  " 

*•  Oh  !  Christie  is  well  enough,  ajul  pooiier  than  ever  ; 
and,  what's  more,  she's  as  good  as  she's  handsome.  \U\t 
(^'jirl — oh,  Master  (Juy  I  that  there  young  limb'll  break 
my  heart  yet !  1  h-in't  tiie  slightest  doubt  of  it  I  All  of 
the  tlirifless,  good-l  ")r-n«)thiiig  lazy-hones "' 

**OhI  well,  Mrs.  Tom,  he'll  outgrow  that.  The  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  let  me  lake  him  to  sea  with  me,  tho 
n(!Xt  time  1  ,i,'o,  and  that  will  cure  him  of  his  laziness,  if 
anvthing  will.  In  tlu;  mean  time,  I  have  a  patient  for 
yoii  to  take  eare  of,  if  ycni  have  no  objeetion.  lie  can't 
last  much  longer,  [)(>or  fellow,  and  you  are  a  better  nurse 
than  Sybil.  What  do  you  say,  Mrs.  'lom  ?  Shall  I  have 
him  sent  up  to  your  house  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tom  was  a  brown-faced,  black-eyed,  keen-looking, 
wide-awake,  gossiping  little  woman,  of  four  feet  high,  with 
a  tongue  that  could,  and  did,  say  sharp  things  sometimes  ; 
but  with  a  heart  so  warm  and  large  (hat  it  is  a  wonder 
how  it  ever  found  room  in  so  small  a  body.  However,  1 
have  been  told,  as  a  general  thing,  little  people  are  by  far, 
cleverer  and  warmer-iiearled  than  their  tall  neighbors — as 
if  nature  was  anxious  to  atone  for  their  shortened  stature 
bv  frivinu:  them  a  double  allowance  of  lutart  and  brains. 
Xursing  was  Mrs.  Toms  peculiar  eleuKMit.  Nothing  de- 
lighted her  more  than  to  get  possession  of  a  patient  whom 
slie  could  iloctor  back  to  health.  15ut,  unfortunately,  this 
desire  of  her  heart  was  seldom  gratillejl ;  for  both  Carl  and 
Christie  were  so  distressingly  healthy  that  "  yarb  tea" 
and  *•  chicken  broth"  were  only  thrown  away  upon  them. 
Her  frequent  visits  to  the  mainland,  however,  all'orded  her 
an  opportunity  of  physicking  indiscriminately  certain 
unfortunate  little  wretches  who  Avere  always  having  in- 
iluenza,  and  measles,  and  whooping-cough,  atid  other  little 
complaints,  too  numerous  to  mention,  and  which  Hed  be- 
fore Mrs.  4.'om's  approach  and  the  power  of  her  *'yarb 
tea."  Of  late,  there  had  been  a  "  plentiful  scarcity  "  even 
of  these  es(jape  valves,  so  her  eyes  twinkled  now  with  de- 
light at  the  prospect  of  this  godsend. 

"  Send  him  up  ?  Sartinly  you  will,  ^faster  Guy.  I'll 
take  care  of  him.  This  here's  the  best  road,  up  to  the 
side  of  the  rocks  ;  'tain't  so  rough  as  it  is  here." 

*'  Lift  him  up,"  said  Captain  Campbell,  to  the  sailors 


24 


rv 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


wlio   nad   rovvod   thorn  aslioro.     "(JcMiily,  boys,"  lie  said, 
as  tlic  sick  man  irroanod.     "  Don't  hurt  liim.     Follow  Mrs. 


ri' 


'J'oin  (o  lior  cottaiio — Mint's  tlto  way.  I'll  bo  down  oarly 
to-morrow  to  sec*  him.  Mrs.  'i'otn.  Thiswiiy,  Driimmoiid  ; 
follow  mo.  I'll  ))i(l  you  ^oimI  ini;hl,  Mrs.  Tom.  Uomom- 
bor  mo  to  ('hrisiio."  And  (':i|)(;iin  (';iinj>bt'Il  spra!i;,Mip 
Iho  ro('i\S,  foHowcMl  by  Syl)il  and  Drummond.  in  tho  diroo 
tion  of  (';unj)l)(»irs  Cnst lo. 

Mrs.  Tom,  with  the  rapidity  wbi(di  tbo  two  sturdy  soa- 
jnoii  found  it  ilitlicult  to  follow,  burdonod  as  thov  woro, 
>vali\od  tow.'ird  hor  i'ott!i<;o. 

Th(>  homo  of  Mrs.  Tom  was  a  low,  ono-story  honso,  oon- 
sistinj^  of  ono  lari^o  room  and  bodroojn,  with  a  loft  jd)ovo, 
\vhoi"o  all  sorts  of  lumbor  and  ,<;;ir(K>n  implomonts  woro 
thrown,  and  whon*  MastiM'  (';irl  souiiht^  his  ro})os(>,  A 
j;"ar(ion  in  front,  with  a  woll-iifravolod  ])ath,  lod  up  to  tho 
front  dot)r  ;ind  into  t  lio  apiirtmont  which  sorvod  as  kitchen, 
pnrlor,  dininu-room  and  sic«>pin!L;-room  for  (Mirisli(^  ;iiid 
]\Irs.  Tom.  'i'ho  furniture*  \v;is  of  tho  plainest  dosci'ipt  ion, 
and  s(>anty  at  that  ;  for  Mrs.  Tom  was  ]>oor,  in  spil(!  of  all 
licr  industry  ;  but,  as  mi<;ht  oo  oxpoctod  frojii  so  thrifty  a 


^rh 


liousowift\  ovorythinu-  was  iiko  waxwork.  I'lu;  snnill  dui- 
mond-shapod  panes  in  tho  windows  Hashed  liko  jewels  in 
tho  moonlight,  and  tho  Ihtors  ami  (diairs  woro  scrubbed  as 
>vhito  as  human  hands  c»,.v'ld  make  thom.  lUdiind  tho 
house  w;»s  a  lar^'o  vouotablo  iiarden,  nominalH'  cultivated 
by  Carl,  but  really  by  Mrs.  Tom,  ^vho  jiroforrod  doing  tho 
"Work  herself,  to  watchino"  hoi  lazy  nt^phew. 

As  tho  men  onterod  with  their  l)urden.  Mi's.  Tom  throw 
0]>en  tho  bedroom  door,  and  tho  sicdv  nnm  was  de{)osited 
on  tho  bed.  Tiiohts  were  brouuht  by  Carl,  a  round-fac{>d, 
yellow-haired,  sloepy-lookinii;  youth  of  tifteen,  with  dull, 
unmeaning"  blue  eyes,  and  a  slow,  indolent  ^'ait — the  very 
opposite  in  every  way  to  his  brisk,  bustliuijj  little  aunt. 

*'  l^e  olT  with  you  to  bed  !  "  saitl  .Mrs.  Toju.  "  It's  the 
best  place  for  any  ono  so  lazy  as  you  are.  ('l(>ar  out,  iu)w  ; 
for  I  am  going  to  sit  up  with  this  hero  sick  man,  and  want 
quiet  I 

With  ovidon*  willingness,  Carl  shulUod  oif,  leaving  Mrs. 
Tom  alone  with  hor  patient. 

Tho  little  woman  api)roachod  tho  hod  and  looked  at  his 
pinched,  sallow  features  with  an  experioncod  eye.  It  was 
evident  10  her  lie  could  not  survive  tho  night. 


THE  MANIAC'S  CURSE. 


25 


)Ilow  Mrs. 
'>\vn  cjirly 

Rcrnoni- 

'ic  (lirec- 

"•'ly  soji- 
<\v  were, 

l.^(\  COFl- 

's  were 
osp.     A 
>  <()  llio 
itclicri, 
lio  and 
■ij'tioii, 
I'  of  uJl 
inTiv  a 
ill  (I'iji- 
vcIh  ill 

'h!(1  ;i,S 
Hi  Mio 
ivutod 
li^'  tlio 

f  Iirow 
>siled 
accd, 
dull, 
very 
t 

s  (ho 
\o\v  ; 
want 

'■-  Ill's 

^vas 


4 


a 


M 


<'  I  wonder  if  ho,  knows  IiIh  (Mid'H  ho  ncur  at  hand/'  said 
lyfrs.  'I'oni  to  liersclf.  "  llo  ought  to  know,  anyliow.  I'll 
tell  him  wlien  he  wakes,  cause  it's  no  use  for  nie  liying 
to  do  anything  with  him." 

The  man  was  not  ar.eep.  As  slie  Hj)oke  ho  opened  liis 
larg(\  wilddooking,  hlack  eyes,  and  gaze*!  jiivwmd  vacantly. 

"  Mister,''  hegaji  Mrs.  'I'om,  **  I  don't  know  yourniiinf-  ; 
]>ut   'tain't   no  o(hls.      Do  you  know  how  long  you  have  to 

1V(^  • 

"  How  h)ng  ?  "  said  the  man,  h)oking  at  her  with  a  ,'^a/c 
so  wihi.  that,  had  M  fs.  'I\»nj  Ixien.  the  least,  l)it  m  rvous,  it 
would  have  tcri'iliefl  her  heyond  measure. 

'*  Not  three  hours,"  said  Mi's.  Tom,  gra,vely. 

A  sort  of  wild  horror  overs[»read  the  face  of  the  <lying 
man. 

''So  soo!i  ! — oh  (Jod  I — so  soon  !"  ho  murmui-ed,  '^  and 
with  all  un('()jif('ssed  still.  I  ('anrn)t  die  with  this  crime 
on  liiy  soul  !  1  must  I'eveal  the  miserahle  secret  t.h;il,  has 
eaten  away  my  vei-y  lif<!  !" 

Mrs.  Tom  listened  to  this  uncxr.ected  outhurst  in  wonder 
and  ama/tMucnt. 

"  Listen  !  "  said  the  man,  turning  to  Mrs.  'I'om,  and 
s})ea,king  rapidly  in  his  excdtennuit.  *'  One  night,  nhoiit 
tliirteen  years  ago,  as  1  was  returning  homo  from  my  day's 
hihor,  I  was  overtaken  l)y  a  violent  storm.  I  was  a  con- 
siderahle  distance  from  home,  and  there  was  no  house  ne;ii- 
whei'e  I  could  j-enniin  for  iho  night.  It  was  intensely  dark, 
and  1  staggere(i  hlindly  along  in  thcdrenching  rain,  uTitil, 
hy  .'I  siulden  Hash  of  lightning,  I  chanced  toe.-(ty  tlie  iMiins 
of  an  old  house  that  had  long  been  deserted,  'i'hankful 
even  for  this  refuge  from  the  storm,  I  entered  it,  and  re- 
treating into  a  corner,  sat  on  an  emptv  box,  waitinir  for 
the  tempest  to  abate. 

"  Suddenlv  I  heai'd  the  sound  of  voices  in  an  adioininrr 
room,  talking  in  low  whispers,  'i'lnire  were,  at  the  time, 
certain  suspicious  characters  prowling  about,  and  the  nn- 
expectcfl  sound  startle(l  me.  Still  1  fell  they  liiighl  bo 
weather-bound  wavfai'Cfs,  lik(j  mvself  ;  but,  before  ioiniu'^'" 
them,  I  thought  it  might  be  })riulentto  di>eover  who  they 
■\vero  ;  an<l  I  cautiously  drew  near  tho  wall  to  listen. 

''  The  partition  dividing  us  was  thin,  and  in  th(.'  lull  of 
tho  storm  1  could  catch  here  and  there  a  few  words  of 
their  conversation. 


1  \ 
1 


26 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


iiji  I 


i  I 


"  '  I  tell  you  he  killed  himse]f,'  said  one.  *I  saw  him. 
He  stubbed  him  to  the  heart  with  his  knife.* 

*'  '  What  does  ho  intend  doing  witli ' 

''Here  a  sudden  riisli  of  wind  and  rain  prevented  me 
from  hearins:  wliat  followed. 

*'  *  And  serves  the  jade  right,  too/  were  the  next  words 
I  heard.  *  She  might  have  known  what  it  was  to  rouse  tlio 
anger  of  tliat  devil  inearnate.' 

"  '  Wliere  arc  we  to  lind  this  fe'.low  he  wants  ?'  said  the 
second  voice. 

"  *  At  M  inton,  on  the  coast ;  half  a  mile  from  here.  His 
name's  Dick  (J rove.     I  know  him.' 

"  I  started  in  ahirm,  as  well  I  might,  for  the  name  was 
mine. 

*' '  How  do  you  know  he'll  agree  ? ' 

"  '  li  he  doesn't/  said  the  first,  with  an  oath  that  made 
my  blood  run  chili,  '  a  little  cold  steel  will  settle  the  busi- 
ness. But  tlie  terms  are  easier  than  that  ;  he's  to  be  well 
paid  for  holding  his  tongue  ;  and,  as  he's  a  poor  devil, 
he'll  do  anything  for  money.  Oh,  he'll  agree  ;  there's  no 
trouble  about  that.' 

"  The  increasing  noise  of  the  storm  now  drowned  their 
voices  altogether.  I  stood  for  ii  moment  rooted  to  the 
ground  with  terror.  That  some  terrible  crime  had  been, 
or  was  to  be  perpetrated,  in  which,  by  some  means,  I  was 
to  be  implicated,  I  plainly  saw;  and,  my  only  idea  now 
was  to  escape.  1  started  forward  ;  but  as  my  unlucky  fate 
would  have  it,  I  stumbled  in  the  darkness,  and  fell  lieavily 
to  the  grouiul,  with  a  violence  that  shook  the  old  house. 

"I  heard,  as  1  lay,  half  stunned,  an  ejaculation  of  alarm 
from  the  inner  room,  and  quick  footsteps  approaching 
where  I  lay.  All  was  now  up  with  me,  so  I  scrambled  to 
my  feet,  just  as  two  men,  wearing  black  crape  masks 
over  their  faces,  entered.  Each  carried  pistols,  and  one 
held  a  dark  lantern,  the  light  of  which  he  flashed  in  my 
face. 

"  *  Wlio  are  you,  sir?'  fiercely  exclaimed  one;  and  I 
saw  him  draw  a  knife  from  his  bosom  that  made  my  blood 
curdle. 

"  I  essayed  to  answer,  but  my  teeth  chattered  so  with 
terror  that  1  could  not  utter  a  word. 

*'  *  Ha  I '  exclaimed  the  other,  who  all  this  time  had  been 
holding  the  lanteru  close  to  my  face.     '  This  is  the  very 


saw  him. 

'nted  me 

sfc  words 
ouse  tliG 

said  the 

e.     His 

01  e  was 


t  made 
e  busi- 
>e  well 
devil, 
■e's  no 

their 

0  the 
been, 

1  was 
I  now 
'  fate 
avjly 
ise. 
iarm 
hing 
■d  to 
asks 

one 

my 

d   I 
ood 

'ith 

3en 


THE  MANIAC'S  CURSE. 


27 


fellow   we   were   in   search   of.     Your   name   is   Richard 

Grove  ? ' 

'^  *  Yes,'  I  managed  to  say,  quaking  with  mortal  fear. 

'*^Yjii  are  a  mason  by  trade,  and  live  in  Minton?' 
asked,  or  rather  attirined,  my  tierce  questioner. 

"'  I  re])lied  in  tiie  atlirmative,  for  1  saw  there  was  no  use 
in  attempting  a  lie. 

"  '  All  right,  Tom.  Yon  go  for  the  carriage  ;  I  will 
take  care  of  our  friond  here,  until  you  return.' 

"  The  one  with  the  knife  left  the  house,  and  the  other, 
draAving  a  pistol,  the  disagreeable  click  of  which  ma<le  me 
jump,  sat  down  before  me,  keepiiig  his  eyes  immovably 
riveted  on  my  face.  I  did  not  dare  to  move.  I  scarcely 
dared  to  breathe,  as  I  stood  with  r  v  eves  fixed,  as  if  fas- 
ciliated,  on  the  deadly  weapon.  Nearly  ten  minutes  passed 
thus  in  profound  silence,  when  the  sound  of  carriage 
wheels  was  heard,  and,  the  instant  after,  the  man  cmIIcmI 
Tom  entered,  his  mask  off,  but  his  hat  pulled  so  down 
over  his  eyes,  and  his  coat  collar  turned  up  so  far,  that  I 
could  see  nothing  but  a  pair  of  dark,  sinister  eyes. 

"  '  The  carriage  is  here,'  he  said. 

"  '  Then,  go  on  ;  and  you,  my  man,  follow  him — I  will 
walk  behind.' 

''  I  did  not  venture  to  utter  a  word,  and  was  about  go- 
ing out,  when  he  called  me  back,  exclaiming  : 

"  '  I  came  near  forgetting  a  very  necessary  precau-on. 
Here,  my  good  fellow,  let  me  tie  this  bandage  over  your 


cy  Cb. 


''  '  Why,'  I  asked. 

** '  That  you  had  better  not  know.  And,  hark  ye,  friend, 
ask  no  questions.  Least  said,  soonest  mended.  Move  on, 
Tom.' 

^"Holding  my  hand  to  prevent  me  from  falling,  my 
guide  led  me  out.  I  felt  myself  assisted  into  a  carriage 
and  placed  in  a  seat.  One  of  the  men  got  in  after  mo  and 
closed  the  door  ;  the  other  luounted  the  box,  and  olf  we 
drove. 

"  1  am  quite  sure  they  took  me  a  long,  roundabout  way, 
and  went  here  and  there,  in  various  directions,  and  came 
back  to  the  same  place  again,  to  make  me  believe  the  dis- 
tance was  much  longer  than  it  really  was.  l^'or  nearly  an 
hour  we  drove  thus,  and  then  the  coach  stopped,  and  I 
was  helped  out.     I  knew  I  was  on  the  shore,  for  1  could 


!■ 


38 


THE  qvmn  OP  TH^  ISLE. 


wiiich  w,,.,  pHs  ,e7'-,.  .,V«"   'I'^y  assisted  inS  int,  .,  I     !* 

?,L''  '      '  'J<'si"'nitioi,  to  the  sii/i      r  '"  ''»'''  "»  will,  ^ 

t  VO  iioiu-d  tOSSI.ILr  tli„s   i      H  J  ''""  '""'''  wc  wore  f  ,  lu 

"e  t'n ",  ^""•'-'  ti;  t"r:;f  t,;:'-"  'i-  i^oat'^tj;: '( 

1'ic.e     u   tho  bottom.      AVifh   n  i      i  f'^^^'^vn  forward  on  mv 
"ft-      Liie  (larkiicss  conlrl   iw^     t     ^    "''^^'^ -i  con kl  sop 

f'.n-.  :•:..£  ,;~s  3  i' a  Si'.,s! 

;  >;iru  1.  of  water  i„  ruy  face  ^/c  /  '^^  ^^'  ^'^^^^^^^^  ^^ashi„^ 
yig  m  the  room  r  in^i  i  '  ^  ^  ^'^^^"^  vvas  a  ]io-j,f  ]..  ^ 
lav  thn   ,7      1  V    .    ^  ^ooKcd  around      Ti,,.  *    '^   ourn- 

J^'io  S]o-  If   T,r..,,.i„   7*^  to'i's'i  m  Jus  side  ' 

"•"■k  je,  sirrah  !  have  done  wiH,  n  • 

uone  with  this  cowardly  fool- 


THE  MANIAC'S  CURSE. 


29 


md  brcak- 
't<^  H  boat, 
'J'be  boat 
Iroad  fully 
on  with  a 
vore  fully 
iit  struck 

'■(J  oil  Jiiy 

sio?i,  the 
^iid  ihi'ii 
reaclicd 
'  quarter 
ity  lock, 
^('uiitioa 
I'oiigh  a 
eriietl  to 
"1  open 
he  door 

itl  look 
11  Id  see 
tlirujt 
need  a 
y  sub- 
L'thijig 

baud 
tbhik 

^frs. 

sed  at 

"for 

r  my 

ibing 

)uru- 

floor 

bich 

tb  a 
1  oil 
at  1 

30l- 


:^ 


orv>  or,  by  boaven,  yoii  sliull  sbare  tlic  same  fate  of  liim 
vou  see  before  you.  No  matter  wliat  you  see  to-night, 
speak  not,  nor  ask  any  questions,  under  peril  of  instant 
death.  If  you  perform  your  duty  faithfully,  this  sliall  l)e 
your  reward.'  As  he  spoke  he  displayed  a  purse  Tilled  up 
M'ith  bright,  yellow  guineas. 

'*  Ikfore  I  couKl  reply,  a  shriek,  that  seemed  to  come 
from  below,  resounded  through  the  room  ;  a  shriek  so  full 
of  wild  horror,  and  anguish,  and  des{)air,  that  even  my 
companion  gave  a  violent  start,  and  stood  as  if  listening 
intently.  As  for  me,  my  very  life-blood  seemed  curdling 
as  the  wild,  piercing  cries  of  agony  came  nearer  and 
nearer.  A  heavy  footstep  ascended  the  stairs,  and  I  could 
hear  the  sound  of  some  body  dragging  up.  Closer  and 
closer  came  those  appalling  screams,  and  a  man  entered, 
masked  likewise,  dragging  after  him  the  convulsed  form 
of  a  young  girl. 

"  To  this  dav  I  have  never  seen  a  more  beautiful  crea- 
ture,  notwithstanding  her  face  was  distorted  with  fear  and 
horror.  As  she  entered  her  eyes  fell  on  the  form  of  the 
dead  man  on  the  lloor.  With  supernatural  strength  she 
broke  from  the  man  who  held  her,  and  bent  for  an  instant 
over  the  lifeless  body.  It  sufticed  to  tell  her  that  he  was 
quite  dead  ;  and  tiieu  throwing  up  her  white  arms,  she 
fled  around  tlie  room,  shrieking  as  I  never  heard  any  liv- 
ing being  shriek  before.  Great  heaven  !  those  awful  cries 
are  ringing  in  my  ears  yet. 

"  The  man  who  had  led  her  in  sprang  forward  and 
caught  her  by  both  wrists.  She  struggled  like  one  mad, 
but  even  the  unnatural  strength  of  frenzy  failed  to 
free  her  from  his  iron  grasp.  I  could  see  her  delicate 
wrists  grow  black  in  tlie  cruel  grasp  with  which  he  held 
her. 

''  The  man  beside  me  said  something  in  a  foreign  tongue 
— 'French,  I  think — to  wnicli  the  other  nodded,  without 
speaking.  My  guide  then  went  and  unlocked  a  door  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  apartment,  from  which  he  drew 
forth  a  great  heap  of  bricks  and  mortar,  and  all  the  im- 
plements necessary  for  building  a  wall. 

•'A  light  began  to  dawn  upon  me.  The  body  of  this 
murdered  man  was  to  be  walled  up  here. 

''  My  suspicion  was  correct.  Making  a  sign  for  me  to 
assist  him.  the  man  raised  the  head,  and  not  daring  to 


H        '    : 


if 


I 


!     !■ 


I   il 


30 


TIIJ^  QlTEm  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"'g  "..  I.e  tuV  ea  1    "?  t'.e  massive  o,.S  doo,  "Ztf 
co'iiiii.'iiided  mo    f,   „     "•'  "'"'   speaking  f,,,-  tim  fi  ""'^- 

's^t^  }H»«S-;;,  HP'S 

'  ^^^^^f«  the  door  had  been 


'n 


THE  MANIAC'S  CURSE. 


31 


d  it  into 
k  closet 
k  walls, 
not  ro- 
-for  he 

osoimd- 
^'r  each 
t  it  was 
but  be- 
,  elasp- 
LT  from 
sprang 
S2)irit. 
ied  her 
t  hnvG 

raven's 
fcenial 
dreu's 

could 
u  like 
1  her 
tiered 
lock- 
inie, 
sioii, 

!lovo 
,v  iii- 
|torn 
Do 

land 

kod 

Is  as 

\n  a 

:ot 

he 
pe- 
en 


'I 


was  a  wall  of  solid  masonry,  which  her  death  cries  could 
never  penetrate. 

''  *  It  is  well  ! '  said   he  who  a])]ieared  to  me  the  supe- 
rior.    '  (-live  him  the  reward  I  told  you  of  !  ' 
The  other  silently  handed  me  the  purse. 
And  now  swear  never  to  reveal  what  you  have  this 
niyht  seen,  till  your  dying  day  1 ' 

'•  *  I  swear.'  said  I,  for  I  dared  not  refuse. 

*'  '  That  will  do.  Take  him  away  I '  sai''  the  speaker, 
leaving  the  room. 

'•  ]\Iy  guide  blindfolded  me  as  I  had  been  before,  and 
led  me  out,  locking  the  door  on  the  awful  secret. 

"Aslhad  been  brought  up,  1  was  led  to  the  beach. 
The  boat  was  in  waiting,  and  I  was  taken  away,  landed, 
convoyed  into  the  carriage,  which,  for  upward  of  half  an 
hour,  drove  around  some  circuitous  route.  Then  I  was 
assisted  out  and  left  standing  alone.  I  tore  the  bandage 
from  my  eyes  and  looked  around,  but  the  carriage  was 
gone ;  and  I  never  heard  or  discovered  aught  more  of  the 
events  of  that  night. 

*'  From  that  day  my  peace  of  mind  was  gone.  Years 
passed,  but  it  haunted  me  night  and  day,  until  I  became 
a  morose  and  dreaded  man.  Then  I  traveled  from  land 
to  land,  but  nothing  ever  could  banish  from  my  ears  that 
woman's  dying  shrieks  and  despairing  eyes. 

"  In  Liverpool  1  fell  ill.  I  felt  1  must  die,  and  wanted 
to  come  and  get  buried  in  my  native  land.  Captain  Camp- 
bell brought  me  here  ;  and  now  that  I  have  told  all,  I  can 
die  in  peace.  In  peace — never  !  nerer  until  that  woman's 
face  is  gone  !  Oh,  God  !  "  he  cried,  raising  himself  up 
■with  a  shriek,  and  pointing  to  the  window,  '^she  is 
there  \" 

AVith  a  scream  almost  as  wild  as  his  own,  Mrs.  Tom 
started  up  and  looked.  A  pale,  wild,  woful  face,  shrouded 
in  wild  black  hair,  was  glued  for  a  moment  to  the  glass, 
and  then  was  gone.  Paralyzed  with  terror,  Mrs.  Tom 
turned  to  the  sick  num.  His  jaw  had  dropped,  his  eyes 
were  protruding  from  their  sockets,  and  he  was  dead. 


II 


;  1 1 
)  I, 


)      I 


33 


THE  QUEEX   OF  THE  ISLF 


I        I 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  HAUXTEI)  ROOM. 


liil' 


I     ^ 


Undeti  the  gnitlancc  of  young  Guy  Campbell,  Wilhml 
Drummond  jind  Sybil  ascended  the  steep,  rocky  path  lead- 
ing to  Campbell  Lodge.  Captain  Guy  bounded  over  the 
rocks  with  the  agility  of  a  deer,  while  his  two  compan- 
ions more  leisurely  followed. 

'^Yonder  is  my  island  home,  old  Cami)bell  Castle/'  said 
Sybil,  as  an  abrupt  turn  in  the  rough  road  brought  them 
in  full  view  of  tiie  old  mansion-house.  *^  It  is  nearly  three 
years  now  since  I  have  seen  it." 

Both  paused  as  if  involuntarily  to  contemplate  it. 
Years  and  neglect  had  performed  their  jsual  work  of 
destruction  on  the  lodge.  The  windows  were  broken  in 
many  places,  and  the  great  gate  before  the  house  hung 
useless  and  fallen  off  its  rusty  hinges.  The  coarse,  red 
sandstone  of  which  it  had  been  origiiuiUy  built  was  now 
black  with  age  and  the  many  storms  that  had  beaten 
against  it.  No  lights  were  to  be  seen,  no  smoke  issued 
from  the  tall  chimneys,  all  looked  black,  gloomy  and  de- 
serted. The  swallows  had  built  their  nests  in  the  eaves 
and  ruined  gables,  and  even  the  tall,  dark,  spectral  pines 
that  formed  an  avenue  to  the  dilapidated  gateway  had  a 
forlorn  and  dismal  look.  In  the  pale,  bright  moonlight 
the  ruined  homestead  of  the  Campbells  looked  cold,  bleak 
and  uninviting.  Even  the  long,  gloomy  shadows  from 
the  trees,  as  they  lay  on  tlie  grou'^d,  seemed  to  the  super- 
stitious mind  of  Sybil  like  uneartlily  hands  waving  them 
away.  She  shuddered  with  a  chill  feeling  of  dread,  and 
clung  closer  to  the  arm  of  Drummond. 

*'  Quite  a  romantic-looking  old  place  this,"  said  the 
young  man,  gayly.  "  Really  charming  in  its  gloomy 
grandeur,  and  liighly  suggestive  of  ghosts  and  rats  and 
other  vermin  of  a  like  nature,"  while  he  inwardly  mut- 
tered, ''Dismal  old  hole;  even  Sybil's  bright  eyes  can 
hardly  recompense  me  for  burying  myself  alive  in  such  a 
rickety  dungeon." 


jj 


THE  HAUNTED  ROOM. 


33 


Willard 
itli  lead- 
over  the 
conipaii- 

le/'  said 
lit  tliem 
*ly  tlireo 

ilate   it. 
vork  of 
okeii  ill 
e  hung' 
I'se,  red 
as  now 
beaten 
issued 
md  de- 
eaves 
1  pines 
had  a 
)nliglit 
bleak 
from 
super- 
them 
3,  and 

d  the 
oomy 

3  and 
mut- 

s  can 

uch  a 


■4' 


i4 


1 


i 


**It  has  not  a  very  hospitable  look,  I  must  say,"  said  its 
young  mistress,  witii  a  smile  ;  '*  but,  in  spite  of  its  for- 
bidding aspect,  I  hope  we  will  bo  able,  by  some  means,  to 
make  ^our  stay  here  endurable." 

*'  A  desert  would  seem  a  paradise  to  me,  with  you  near 
by,"  said  Drummond,  in  his  low,  lover-like  tones.  *' My 
only  regret  is  that  our  stay  here  is  destined  to  be  so  short." 

The  dark,  bright  face  of  the  young  island  girl  flushed 
with  pleasure  :  l)ut  ere  she  could  re[)ly  the  hall  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  Captain  Campbell  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
before  them. 

''Welcome  to  Campbell  Castle,"  he  said,  w^th  a  gay 
courtesy,  stepping  aside  to  let  them  enter. 

**  Thank  you,"  said  Drummond,  bowing  gravely,  while 
lie  glanced  with  some  curiosity  around,  to  see  if  the  in- 
terior looked  more  inviting  than  the  exterior. 

^J'hey  stood  in  a  long,  wide  hall,  high  and  spacious, 
which  the  light  of  the  llickering  candle  Captain  Campbell 
held  strove  in  vain  to  illuminate.  At  the  farther  extrem- 
ity a  winding  staircase  rose  up,  and  u]>,  until  it  was  lost 
in  the  gloom  above.  Two  wide,  black  doors  Hanked  the 
hall  on  either  side,  and  Captain  Campbell  threw  open 
that  on  the  right  saying  : 

*' This  I  have  discovered,  upon  investigation,  to  be  at 
2)resent  the  only  habitable  apartment  in  the  house.  Woful 
are  the  accounts  I  have  received  from  worthy  Aunt  Moll 
and  her  sou  and  heir  Lemuel,  of  the  state  of  the  nhimncys. 
The  swallows  have  built  their  nests  in  the  only  one  that 
ever  did  draw  respectably,  and  all  the  rest  leak  at  such  a 
rate  every  time  it  rains  tliat  the  lire  is  not  only  completely 
extinguished,  but  the  rooms  filled  with  water." 

''And  what  'n  the  world  are  we  to  do,  brother  ?"  asked 
Sybil,  in  disnicty  at  this  unpromising  picture. 

'^  Why,  we  must  make  the  best  we  can  of  a  bad  bar- 
gain. I  have  sent  Lem — much  against  his  will,  I  must 
say,  for  the  young  man  is  disagreeably  afflicted  with  lazi- 
ness— to  take  the  swallows'  nests  out  of  the  chimney  and 
make  a  fire  there,  while  Aunt  Moll  does  all  the  other 
etceterps  necessary  for  receiving  as  its  inmate  Tier  Majesty 
the  Queen  of  the  Isle.  Tlien,  as  there  is  but  one  other 
habitable  room  in  the  house,  Signer  Drummond  must 
occupy  it,  although  it  has  not  the  most  pleasant  reputatioL 
in  the  world." 


34 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


*'  How  is  that  ?  "  asked  Drunimond,  driiwing  up  a  chair 
and  seating  himself  in  front  of  tlic  fire  that,  tliants  to  tiio 
exertions  of  Captain  Caniphell,  was  already  burning 
brightly  on  the  liearth. 

"  Why,  to  tell  tlio  truth,  Aunt  Moll  and  her  hopeful 
son  assert  it  to  he  haunted,  as  it  niont  probably  is  by 
rats.  If  you  are  wiling  to  trust  yourself  to  the  ghost's 
mercy,  I  can  freely  i)roniiso  you  safety  from  all  other 
dangers." 

"  Haunted  ?  liy  Jove,  that's  capital  !  I  have  been 
■wishing  all  my  life  to  see  a  'boua-fide  ghost,  and  lo  !  tlio 
time  has  come  at  last.  lint  what  manner  of  ghost  is  it, 
saith  the  legend — fair  or  foul,  old  or  young,  handsome  or 
liideous  ?  " 

"  On  that  point  T  am  distressingly  short  of  information. 
Lem's  description  is  rather  vague.  He  describes  it  as 
being  *  higlier  than  anything  at  all,  with  fire  coming  out  of 
its  eyes,  long  hair  reaching  to  the  ground,  and  dressed 
in  white.'  " 

'*  Of  course  !  "  said  Drummond.  "  Who  ever  heard  of 
a  ghost  that  was  not  dressed  in  white  ?  Ton  my  honor, 
I  am  quite  enchanted  at  the  opportunity  of  making  the 
acquaintance  of  its  ghostship." 

During  this  conversation  Sybil  had  left  the  room  ''on 
hospitable  thoughts  intent,"  and  now  returned  to  announce 
that  supper  was  already  i)rogressing  rapidly — most  welcome 
news  to  our  hungry  gentlemen. 

Sybil  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  now  her  raven  curls  fell 
in  heavy  tresses  to  her  waist.  In  the  shadow  tiiose  glitter- 
ing ringlets  looked  intensely  black,  but  where  the  firelight 
fell  upon  them  a  sort  of  red  light  shone  through.  As  she 
moved  through  the  high,  shadowy  rooms,  with  the  grace- 
ful, airv  motion  that  lent  a  charm  to  her  commonest 
action,  AVillard  Drummond,  following  her  with  his  eyes, 
felt  a  secret  sense  of  exultation,  as  he  thought  this  mag- 
nificent creature  was  his,  and  his  {done.  This  bright  im- 
passioned sea-nymph  •  this  beautiful,  radiant  daughter 
of  a  noble  race ;  this  royal,  though  dowerless,  island 
queen,  loved  him  above  all  created  beings.  Had  she  not 
told  him,  as  he  whispered  words  of  love,  that  he  was 
dearer  to  lier  than  all  tlie  world  beside  ?  Some  day  he 
would  make  her  his  wife,  and  take  her  with  him  to  his 
princely  home  in  Virginia  j  and  he  thought,  with  new  ex- 


THE  TIAUXTED  ROOM. 


35 


P  a  chair 

Ks  to  the 

burning 

hopeful 
bly  IS  by 
0  ghost's 
all  other 

'Ve  been 
i  lo  !  the 
:)st  is  it, 
Isome  or 

'matioii. 

es  it  as 

gout  of 

dressed 

leard  of 
honor, 
ing  the 

m  *'on 
nounce 
el  CO  me 

rls  fell 
glitter- 
relight 
As  she 
grace- 
nonest 

eyes, 

niag- 
it  ini- 
ighter 
island 
le  not 
e  was 
ay  ho 

o  his 
w  ex- 


tiltation,  of  the  sensation  this  glorious  planet  wo.ild  nuiko 
among  tiie  lesser  stars  of  liis  native  State. 

So  tliought  and  argued  Willard  l/ruininond  in  tlie  first 
blush  and  delirium  of  love. 

Ho  ditl  not  stop  to  think  that  he  had  loved  witli  oven 
more  intensity  onee  before  ;  that  he  had  raved  (  ven  in  like 
manner  of  another  far  less  bright  than  this  quciMily  Syhil. 
He   did   not  slop   to    think   that   even   so   he    might  lovo 


agani. 


No.  Kveiything  was  forgotten  but  the  intoxieating 
girl  before  him,  with  her  sparkling  faee,  her  glorious  eyes 
of  jet,  and  her  llasliing,  sunbright  hair. 

From  the  rha}).so(ly  of  passion — from  the  seventh 
heaven  of  his  day  dreams,  he  was  at  last  recalled  l)y  the 
voice  of  Sybil  herself  summoning  him  lo  supper. 

He  looked  u])  with  a  start,  half  inclined  to  be  i>rovoke(l 
at  this  sudden  summons  from  his  ideal  world  to  the  vul- 
gar reality  of  su[)})er  of  hot  cakes,  tea  and  preserves. 
But  there  sat  Sybil  at  the  head  of  the  table',  bright  and 
smiliiiiir — beautifving  even  the  dull  routine  of  the  tea-table 
with  the  charm  of  her  presence.  And  then,  too — now 
that  his  airy  vision  was  gone — Mr.  AV'illard  Drummond 
began  to  recollect  he  was  very  hungry,  and  that  ''dreams 
and  visions  "'  were,  after  all,  very  unsubstantial  things, 
compared  witli  the  bread  and  butter  of  every-day  life,  de- 
grading as  the  confession  was. 

Guy  had  already  taken  his  place,  so  Willard  took  the 
seat  his  young  hostess  }>ointed  out  to  him,  and  the  busi- 
ness of  the  tea-table  commenced.  Wh:jn  the  meal  was 
over.  Aunt  IsloW  cleared  the  table,  and  the  two  gathered 
round  the  fire — for,  though  the  weather  was  warm,  the 
great,  nnaired  room  was  chill  enough  to  render  the  fire 
pleasant. 

By  degrees — perhaps  it  was  owing  to  the  strange, 
dreary  loneliness  of  the  place — the  conversation  turned 
upon  deserted  houses,  bold  robberies,  murders,  and,  by 
natural  consequence,  npon  ghosts.  Willard  and  C'a])tain 
Campbell  seemed  striving  to  outvie  each  other  in  telling 
the  most  frightful  tales,  the  latter  taxing  his  innii^ination, 
to  invent  them  when  the  original  failed  to  produce  the 
necessary  degree  of  horror.  Every  one  knows  what  a 
strange  fascination  such  ghostly  legends  have  ;  the  hours 
passed  almost  unnoticed,  and  it  was  only  when  the  lire 


lil 


ill: 


i 


I  Hi 

I 


80 


TITE  QUKKX  OF  TlIK  ISLK. 


burtiod  low  on  tlu'  licurth,  ami  tlio  solitary  cjindlo  spnt- 
tcrccl  in  the  Hocki't  hefoii!  ^n>iMi(  out,  that  our  party 
becaiuo  aware  of  tlio  latcncsf^  oi'  tlio  lioiir. 

*MVl'1I,  wc  liiivo  IxMMi  proliluMy  s|)('miiu<^  tlio  ovoiiiuir, 
I  must  say,"  said  Captain  ('amj)lM'll.  risiiii,^  with  a  hi"u^h. 
**  You  shouhl  hav(!  been  in  l)i'd  an  hour  a<;o,  Syl)il. 
]h'n;  !  Aunt  Moll,''  he  cried,  p^oinix  to  the  door.  "  JJring 
lis  lights,  and  show  ^^r.  l)runini()U(|  to  his  room.'' 

Ho  waited  for  a  respons(\  but  none  eanu^  ;  only  the  eelio 
of  his  own  voice  sounded  dolefully  throui;h  the  hall. 
*'  Hallo  !  Aunt  Moll,  I  say — Lem,  brini;  candles,''  oiico 
more  called  Captain  Campbell.  Again  he  waited  for  an 
answer,  and  a<,^ain  none  came.  "Confound  it  I"  ho 
muttered,  turniiii;"  away,  "  the  sleepy-headed  j)air  havo 
doubtless  been  in  bed  for  the  last  three  hours,  and  are  as 
sound  asleep  as  the  Seven  Sleepers  by  this  time." 

"Never  mind,  (Juy,"  said  Sybil,  laughing  at  his  rueful 
face,  "  I'll  go.  Aunt  ^loU  and  Lem  are  tired,  doubtless, 
•with  their  extraordinary  exertions  this  evening,  and  it 
"would  be  a  pity  to  wake  them." 

She  quitted  the  room  as  she  spoke,  in  the  direction  of 
the  kitchen,  in  search  of  lights. 

And  presently  she  reappeared,  and,  announcing  that 
Aunt  Moll  was  stretcdied  out  on  her  pallet  before  tho 
kitchen  lire,  asleep,  she  took  her  light,  and,  bidding 
them  a  smiling  good-night,  left  them  to  seek  her  owu 
room. 

And  Captain  Campbell,  taking  a  candle,  preceded  his 
guest  in  tho  direction  of  the  ''  haunted  chamber." 

AVillard  Drummond  entered  and  looked  round.  It  was 
a  high,  wide,  spacious  chamber,  as  were  all  in  the  house, 
Tvith  floors,  doors  and  casements  of  dark  polished  oak, 
black  now  with  time  and  use.  In  the  wide  fireplace  at 
one  end  a  fire  had  been  burning  all  the  evening,  but  only 
the  red,  smoldering  embers  remained  now.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  o})posite  the  fire,  was  his  bed,  and  be- 
tween them,  facing  the  door,  was  a  deep,  dormer  window. 
The  room  looked  cheerful  and  pleasant,  and,  throwing 
himself  into  an  easy,  old-fashioned  armchair  before  the 
fire,  he  exclaimed  : 

**Well.  in  spite  of  all  the  ghosts  and  hobgoblins  that 
ever  walked  at  *  noon  of  night,'  I  shall  sleep  here  as 
sound  as   a  top  until  morning.      Your  ghost   will    have 


4 


THE  IIAUXTEl)  ROOM. 


87 


tho 


owu 


to  pivc   ino  a  ])rotty  vigorous    sluikiiif,'    before        uwuko, 
T/hcn  once  I  close  my  eyes  on  this  mortal  life.'* 

'M'crliiips  tile  ghost,  if  in  the  least  timorous,  will  not 
iippejir  to  so  undiinnted  an  individual  as  yourself  !  (Jooil 
ni;;hi."  And,  [)lacin<;  the  light  on  the  table,  Captain 
Cjmipbell  left  tho  room. 

WillartTs  first  cart!  was  to  lock  the  door  securely,  and 
then  I'art'lully  examine  the  room.  Tlu'ri'  was  no  other 
means  of  ingress  but  the  one  by  which  lie  had  entered, 
and  the  room  did  not  seem  to  communicate  with  any 
otlu>r.  The  window  was  high  above  the  ground  anil 
llrmly  nailed  down.  Clearly,  then,  if  the  ghost  entered 
at  all,  it  must  assume  its  ghostly  i)rerogative  of  coming 
through  the  keyhole — for  there  was  no  other  means  by 
which  ghost  or  mortal  could  get  in. 

Satisfied  with  this,  >Villard  Drummond  went  to  bed, 
but,  in  spite  of  all  his  etforts,  sleej)  w<juld  not  come. 
Vain  were  all  his  attempts  to  woo  tin;  drowsy  god,  ho 
couhl  only  toss  restlessly  from  side  to  siile,  with  that  feel- 
ing of  irritation  which  want  of  sleep  ])r()duces. 

The  moonlight,  strejiining  in  through  the  window,  filled 
the  room  with  siH'ery  radiance.  The  silence  of  death 
reigned  around,  unbroken  even  by  the  watch-dog's  bark. 
The  dull,  heavy  roar  of  the  waves,  breaking  on  tlui  slioro 
like  far-ofT  thunder,  was  the  only  sound  to  be  heard.  And 
at  last,  with  this  eerie,  ghostly  lullaby,  AVillard  Drum- 
mond fell  into  a  feverish  sleep. 

And  slee[)ing,  he  dreamed,  lie  seemed  wandering  on 
the  verge  of  a  precipice,  treading  a  path  so  narrow  and 
precarious  that  a  single  false  step  would  hurl  him  to 
certain  destruction  down  the  unfathomable  gulf  below. 
Where  that  path  was  to  end  he  knew  not,  but  a  white- 
robed  siren,  with  shining,  golden  hair  and  smiling  eyes 
and  lii)s,  went  before  him  and  lured  him  on.  An  inwar<l 
voice  seemed  whis[)ering  him  to  beware,  that  the  patli  bo 
was  treading  must  end  in  death  ;  but  tho  smiling  eves  of 
the  golden-haired  tempter  were  beaming  upon  him,  and 
the  voice  whispered  in  vain.  Above  every  steep  ci-ag.  ag 
lie  passed,  the  wild,  black  eyes  of  Sybil  seemed  gleaming 
with  deadly  hatred  and  fierce  nuilignity  on  him  ;  but  even 
those  dark,  warning  eyes  could  not  tempt  him  back  from 
the  road  he  was  treading.  Suddenly  the  siren  vanished  ; 
iic  sprang  after  her,  and  fell  down,  down,  down  into  tho 


i 


% 


i 


il;';t 


38 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


awful  gulf  below.  A  wild  laugh  rung  out  on  the  air,  and 
Sybil  was  bending  above  him,  holding  a  glittering  dagger 
to  liis  heart,  while  her  great,  blank  eyes  burned  like  two 
flames.  He  held  out  his  hands  for  mercy,  but  slie  only 
mocked  him  with  her  deriding  black  eyes,  and  raised  the 
knife  to  plunge  it  into  his  heart.  With  a  terror  he  awoke 
to  find  it  not  all  a  dream. 

An  icy  cold  hand  lay  on  his  face.  He  s])rang  np  in  bed 
with  a  thrill  of  horror,  to  behold  a  white,  wild  face,  with 
vacant,  nnearthly  eyes  and  long,  streaming  hair,  bending 
over  him.  Paralyzed  by  the  sudden  apparition,  he  sat, 
unable  to  move  or  speak,  and  er  •  ho  could  fully  recover 
his  senses  the  ghostly  visitant  had  gone.  He  sprang  out 
of  bed  and  seized  the  door.  It  was  locked  as  he  had  left 
it,  and,  with  his  blood  curdling,  he  stood  rooted  to  the 
floor. 

Morally  and  physically  Willard  Drummond  was  brave ; 
but  this  midnight  visit  from  a  supernatural  being  might 
have  chilled  the  blood  of  the  most  undaunted.  Sleep  was 
now  out  of  the  question  ;  therefore,  seating  himself  by  the 
window,  he  prepared  to  wait  for  the  approach  of  morning. 
The  moon  was  already  sinking  beliind  the  western  hori- 
zon, bathing  the  placid  river  in  its  soft  beams.  The 
morning  star  shone  bright  and  serene  in  the  cloudless, 
blue  sky  ;  and.  gazing  on  the  calm  beauty  without,  the 
young  man's  pulse  ceased  its  feverish  throbbings,  and  he 
began  striving  to  account  for  this  ghostly  visit  by  natural 
means. 

But  he  strove  in  vain.  The  door  was  firmly  locked, 
and  there  could  be  no  secret  passage  through  those  strong, 
oaken  walls.  Then  he  arose  and  carefully  searched  every 
crevice  in  the  room  that  could  by  any  possibility  be  made 
a  hiding  place  of.  Still  in  vain.  The  room  contained 
no  living  thing  but  himself.  Morning  was  now  growing 
red  in  the  e:ist,  and,  exhausted  with  watching,  he  threw 
himself  on  the  bed  and  fell  into  a  deep,  dreamless  sleep, 
from  which  ho  did  not  awake  until  the  sun  was  high  in 
the  heavens. 

He  sprang  hastily  out  of  bed  and  proceeded  to  dress 
himself.  And  now  a  new  dilliculty  arose.  He  felt  he 
would  be  questioned  about  the  supernatunil  visitors  of  the 
haunted  chamber,  and  he  was  at  a  loss  how  to  answer.  If 
he  related  the  event  of  the  night,  he  dreaded  the  ridicule 


i 


THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 


39 


of  the  unbelieving  Ciiptaiii  Ctinipbell,  who  wonld  assuredly 
liiue'h  at  liiia  I'or  being  conquered  in  spite  of  his  boasting  ; 
and  to  be  laughed  at  in  the  presence  of  Sybil  was  not  to 
be  endured.  If,  on  the  otlier  lumd,  lie  did  not  tell,  ho 
would  be  obliged  to  continue  the  occupaiit  of  the  haunted 
chamber  while  he  remained  on  the  island — a  thing  he  had 
not  the  slightest  wish  to  do.  His  toilet  was  finished  bo- 
fore  he  could  come  to  any  conclusion  ;  and,  still  debating 
the  case,  he  descended  the  stairs  and  entered  the  sitting- 
room  they  had  occupied  the  night  before. 


sleep, 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    MIDNIGHT   CRY. 

"And  when  the  niiclnipht  hour  is  come, 
A  sound  is  hetii'd  in  yonder  hall — 
It  rises  lioiirseiy  throut?li  tlie  slcy, 
And  vibrates  u"er  the  mouldering  wall." 

In  a  former  chapter  we  left  Mrs.  Tom  in  rather  an  ap- 
palling situation. 

Accustomed  to  the  quiet,  unexciting  life  of  the  lonely, 
sea-girt  isle,  the  events  of  the  night  had  momentarily 
torrilied  her,  albeit  her  nerves  were  none  of  the  weakest. 
The  mysterious  revelation  of  the  dying  man  ;  his  tale  of 
night,  and  storm,  and  crime  ;  the  wikl,  ghostly  face  at  the 
window  ;  and,  lastly,  his  sudden  death,  were  quite  enough 
to  thrill  for  an  instant  with  terror  even  a  stronger  heart 
than  that  of  the  solitary  old  widow. 

For  some  moments  Mrs.  Tom  sat  still,  gazing  alternately 
on  the  window  and  on  the  ghastly  face  of  the  dead  man 
before  her,  with  a  chill  feeling  of  horror  creeping  over  her. 

Tlie  sudden  striking  of  the  clock,  as  it  chimed  the  hour 
of  eleven,  aroused  her  at  last  from  her  trance  of  terror. 
It  wiis  a  sound  of  life,  and  it  reassured  iier. 

Rising,  she  gathered  courage  to  approach  the  window 
cautiously  and  looked  out.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
the  bright  moonliglit,  bathing  rock  and  river  in  its  silvery 
light,  lioyond  she  could  see  the  huge,  black  pile  of  Canip- 
bclTs  Castle,  casting  its  long,  gloomy  sb.adow  over  the 
ground.  Lights  were  still  twinkling  in  Hie  windows — a 
sight  as  unusual  as  it  was  pleasant — and   with  renewed 


rr^ 


40 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


confidence  at  tins  sign  of  life,  Mrs.  Tom  went  to  arouse 
Carl  to  assist  her  to  watch  beside  the  dead. 

"It's  onpossiUe  to  sleep  with  a  corpse  in  the  house," 
thought  Mrs.  Tom,  as  she  climbed  up  tlie  ladder  leading 
to  Carl's  lofty  dormitory;  ''leastways,  I  couldn't  sleep  a 
wink,  thongli  I  do  s'pose  that  there  lazy  sleepyhead  of  a 
Carl  could  snore  away  just  as  soundly  ef  we  was  all  dead 
in  a  heap.  I  reckon  I'll  hcv  an  hour's  work  getting  him 
up.  Here,  you  Carl  I  Carl  !  Get  up,  I  tell  you  !"  Then 
Mrs.  Tom  shook  him  lustily, 

Tiie  Rlee})or  only  replied  by  turning  over  with  a  grunt. 

"Carl!  Carl!  Lor'  sakes  !  yon  great,  sleepy  good- 
for-nothing,  open  your  eyes.  I  do  b'lieve  the  last  judg- 
ment wouldn't  wake  yon,  once  you  got  a  snorin'.  Ef 
rothin'  else  won't  do,  I'll  try  how  you  like  this." 

And  jMrs.  Tom  caught  the  unfortunate  Carl  by  the  hair 
and  pulled  it  the  wrong  way  until  that  ill-used  youth  sprang 
upright  with  a  roar  that  might  have  been  heard  half  a 
mile  off. 

"  Thunder  and  lightning.  Aunty  !  do  you  want  to  kill 
a  feller  ?"  roared  jVIaster  Carl,  in  a  rage. 

"  Hush,  Carl  !  Don't  get  mad,  honey,"  said  ]\[rs.  Tom, 
soothingly  ;  "  I  only  want  you  to  come  tlown-stairs  and  set 
up  with  me.     That  there  sick  man's  dead." 

"Dead  !  "  roi)eated  Carl,  staring  with  all  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  he's  dead  as  can  be  ;  and  it's  the  most  lonesome 
thing  in  the  world,  settin'  up  alone  with  a  corpse,  so  I 
waked  you  up." 

"  Well,  don't  sit  up  with  him,  then,"  said  Carl,  with  a 
tremendous  yawn.  "  If  he's  dead,  he  won't  mind  staying 
alone  all  night,  I  suppose.  Anyhow,  I  know  I  ain't  going 
to  get  up  at  this  time  of  night,  if  he  was  dead  twice  over." 
And  Carl  la^'^  down  and  composed  himself  for  another  nap. 

lint  Mrs.  Tom  vv'as  resolved  not  to  be  disobeyed  ;  so, 
dropping  the  pacific  tone  she  had  first  a(iopted,  she  very 
fcuimmarily  snatched  away  sheets  and  quilts,  pulled  the 
mattress  from  under  him,  and  overset  i)oor  Carl  on  the 
floor,  from  which  she  soon  made  him  spring  up  with  a 
sound  box  on  the  ear. 

"  Xow  then!"  said  the  indignant  old  lady;  "  tell  me 
a'gin  you  won't,  will  ye  ?  Xow,  look  here  ;  ef  you  ain't 
dressed  and  down-stairs  in  five  minutes,  I'll  come  back, 
and  this  ain't  no  circumstance  to  what  you'll  get.     Tell 


THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 


41 


» 


^^^ 


h 


i 


me  you  won't,  indeed  !  There's  no  telling  what  the  im- 
pidence  of  these  scapegoats  of  boys'll  come  to,  ef  they 
ain't  minded  in  time,"  muttered  the  old  lady  to  herself  as 
she  descended  the  ladder. 

Carl's  toilet,  thus  unpleasantly  hastened,  was  soon  com- 
plete, and  he  descended  to  the  lower  room  with  a  very 
sulky  face,  and  grumbled  inwardly  at  his  l!ard  fate  in 
bein'o"  o-overned  by  so  tyrannical  a  task-mistress. 

"  1  don't  see  why  the  old  fellar  couldn't  have  died 
somew'.cro  else,"  inwardly  muttered  the  ill-tre;'tod  ^Ir. 
]lenley.  "A  coming  here  and  giving  bother  !  Keeping 
a  fellar  from  his  sleep  o'  nights.     It's  downright  mean."' 

Taking  possession  of  Mrs.  Tom's  rocking  chair,  while 
the  old  lady  bustled  about,  laying  out  the  corpse  as  best 
she  could  under  the  circumstances,  Carl  was  once  more  soon 
sound  asleep.  Then,  when  all  was  done  she  could  do,  Mrs. 
Tom  lay  down  on  the  hard  wooden  sofa,  or  '"  settee  "  as  she 
called  it,  and, in  spite  of  the  presence  of  death,  followed 
her  worthy  nephew  to  the  laiul  of  dreams. 

Morning  was  far  advanced  before  either  awoke.  ]\[rs. 
Tom's  first  care  was  to  send  Carl  up  to  the  lodge,  to  in- 
form its  innuites  of  the  death  of  the  guest,  aiul  desire 
Captain  Campbell's  immediate  presence. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  the  young  captain  hastened 
to  the  cottage,  while  Sybil  and  Drummond  went  out  for  a 
stroll  around  the  island. 

Mrs.  Tom  had  been  anxiously  revolving  in  her  mind 
the  singular  story  told  her  the  nigh.t  before,  and  resolved 
to  reveal  it  to  Captain  Campbell  and  learn  his  opinion 
about  it. 

Accordingly,  when  he  entered,  Mrs.  Tom — having  first 
taken  the  precaution  of  turning  Carl  out  of  doors —  related 
the  story  in  su Instance  as  it  had  been  told  to  her. 

Captain  Campbell  listened  in  astonishment  and  in- 
credulity. 

"  My  dear  nuidam,"  replied  the  young  nnm  gravely, 
"  the  man,  excited,  half  crazed,  delirious  as  he  was,  must 
have  imagined  it  all.  No  such  horrible  thing  could  have 
ever  occurred  in  a  Christian  land." 

"  But  he  wasn't  crazy,"  asserted  Mrs.  'I'om,  almost 
angry  at  having  the  truth  of  the  story  doubted.  "  He 
was  just  as  sensible  all  through  as  you  or  I.  lie  wasn't 
colirious  a  mite." 


I 


42 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"  Now,  Mrs.  Tom,  it's  not  possible  that,  with  all  yunr 
good  sense,  you  can  credit  such  an  incredible  tale." 

^'  But  Master  Guy,  the  man  told  it  on  his  death-bed. 
Think  o'tluit." 

'*  And  doubtless  believed  it,  too  ;  but  that  does  not 
make  it  any  more  probable.  1  have  heard  of  such  cases 
before.  It  is  all  owing  to  the  imagination,  my  dear  lady. 
He  luid  fancied  the  story,  and  thougiit  about  it  so  long 
that  he  had  learned  to  believe  in  it  liimself." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  the  'niagination, 
thank  my  heavenly  Master,"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  in  a  sort  of 
sullen  unbelief  ;  *'  but  I  do  know,  ef  you  was  to  talk  to 
this  time  to-morrow  you  couldn't  make  me  believe  dif- 
ferently. I  shouldn't  wonder,  now,  ef  you  tried  to  make 
me  think  the  face  I  seed  stuck  at  the  winder  was  all  'mag- 
ination,  too." 

''1  was  just  about  to  say  so,"  said  Guy,  repressing  a 
smile.  '^  It  could  be  nothing  else,  you  know.  The  hour 
of  night,  the  thrilling  tale  and  the  man's  dying  cry  that 
he  saw  her  there  would  have  made  you  imagine  anything; 
therefore " 

But  Mrs.  Tom's  wrath  was  rising.  She  had  been  in- 
ward-j  priding  herself  on  the  sensation  her  story  would 
create,  and  this  fall  to  her  hopes  was  more  than  she  could 
endure. 

**It's  no  sich  thing  !"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  louder  and 
sharper  than  she  was  in  the  habit  of  using  to  any  one  but 
the  unfortunate  Carl.  *'  I  seen  it  all  with  my  own  two 
blessed  eyes,  and  nobody's  goin'  to  make  me  believe  it  was 
my  'magination  whatever.  'Magination,  indeed!"  con- 
tinued the  old  lady,  in  a  tone  of  profound  contempt. 
*'  Thank  mv  divine  Master,  1  never  was  troubled  with 
'magination  since  the  day  I  was  born,  and  'tain't  likely  I'd 
begin  now  in  my  old  age  o'  life.  I  allers  had  a  great  re- 
spect for  you,  Master  Guy  ;  l)ut  I'm  a  poor,  lone  'oman, 
and  can't  stand  to  be  onsulted  by  nobody.  I  hain't  no 
doubt  you  mean  well,  but  I  like  to  hev  people  b'lieve  me 
when  I  tell  the  truth.  Scat,  you  hussy,  afore  I  twist  your 
neck  for  you." 

The  latter  part  of  this  oration  was  addressed  to  Trot, 
the  mottled  cat,  and  was  accompanied  by  a  kick,  which 
ejected  that  unoffending  member  of  society  out  of  doors 
much  quicker  than  was  at  all  agreeable.     Captain  Camp- 


■■■»- 


1 


.1 


f 


■^ 


THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 


43 


8  not 
cases 
lady, 
long 


•1 


bell,  quite  unprepared  for  this  burst  of  eloquence,  listened 
in  amazement,  and  seized  the  first  opportunity,  when 
angry  Mrs.  Tom  paused  for  breath,  to  humbly  apologize 
for  his  offense. 

<'  My  dear  Mrs.  Tom,"  said  the  young  captain,  humbly, 
*'  I  had  nou  the  remotest  intention  of  offending  you,  and 
most  deeply  regret  having  done  so.  I  have  fallen  into  a 
bad  habit  of  late  of  doubting  everything  ;  and,  really,  tliis 
story  appeared  so  inijirobablc  that  I  think  I  may  be  pardoned 
for  not  yielding  it  full  credit  on  the  spot.  Come,  now,  my 
dear  madam,''  he  continued,  seeing  the  cloud  still  hang- 
ing on  Mrs.  Tom's  honest  face,  "let's  be  friends  still,  and 
I  promise  for  the  future  to  believe  everything  you  choose 
to  tell  me,  no  matter  what  it  is." 

Good  Mrs.  Tom  was  not  proof  against  the  insinuating 
tone  of  Master  Guy,  who  had  always  been  her  favorite  ;  so 
the  cloud  disappeared  and  her  own  cheery  smile  once 
more  beamed  forth. 

Having  arranged  that  Lem  should  come  down  and  pre- 
pare a  grave  during  the  morning,  Captain  Campbell  left 
the  cottage  and  went  in  search  of  Mr.  Drummond  and  his 
sister,  to  tell  them  what  he  had  heard. 

He  found  them  down  on  the  shore.  Sybil  stood  on  a 
high  cliff,  her  dress  fluttering  in  the  morning  breeze,  her 
hat  off,  and  her  long,  glittering,  jetty  tresses  waving  be- 
hind her  like  a  banner.  The  wind  that  came  sweeping 
across  the  waters  had  deepened  the  glow  on  her  crimson 
cheeks  and  lips  and  sent  a  living  light  into  her  glorioub 
eyes. 

Willard  Drummond  stood  beneath,  gazing  at  her  as  a 
poet  might  gaze  on  the  living  realization  of  his  most  beau- 
tiful dreams.  Captain  Campbell  shrug,i;-ed  his  shoulders 
expressively  as  he  saw  his  impassioned  glance,  and  thought 
inwardlv  of  the  confession  he  had  once  made  to  him  of 
there  being  but  one  woman  in  the  world  worth  loving. 

"  Well,  Sybil,  one  would  think  you  were  attitudinizing 
for  the  stage,"  said  Captain  Campbell,  dryly,  as  he  ap- 
proached. 

Svbil  L'vaghed  gaily  as  she  sprang  down  on  the  white, 
level  sands  between  her  brotlier  and  lover. 

"  I  was  only  looking  out  for  a  sail,  which  I  failed  to 
discover,"  she  replied. 

'MVell,  Campbell,"  said  Drummond,    "had  your  old 


44 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


•i 


Lidy  clown  below  any  important  revelations  to  make,  tluiu 
slie  sent  for  you  in  such  haste  this  morning  ?  " 

'' Not  very  imporUint  to  my  eyes,  though  they  are  in 
hers,"  replied  the  young  captain.  ''She  wished  to  reveal 
the  dyijig  deposition  of  our  passenger,  Richard  Grove." 

"  And  wl.'it  had  he  to  tell  .^  Was  I  riglit  in  saying  re- 
morse for  some  '  unacted  crime'  preyed  on  him  more  than 
mere  illness  ?  " 

'*  Faith,  Sybil,  according  to  worthy  ]\[rs.  Tom,  I  be- 
lieve you  were.  He  succeeded  in  frightening  that  good, 
but  slightly  credulous,  old  lady  out  of  her  wits." 

*'  Well  ?"  said  Sybil,  inquiringly. 

Captain  Campbell,  condensing  the  story,  gave  them  the 
outline  and  principal  facts  in  a  few  words.  Both  listened 
with  deep  interest  ;  but  when  he  spoke  of  the  pale,  liag- 
gard  face,  with  its  dark,  waving  Iniir,  glaring  at  them 
through  the  window,  Willard  Drummond  started  violently 
and  turned  pale.  Sybil's  eagle  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face, 
and  she  alone  observed  it. 

''  And  what  does  ^frs.  Tom  take  this  nocturnal  visitor 
to  be  ?  "  inquired  Sybil.  ''A  mortal  like  herself,  or  a 
spirit  disembodied  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  ghost,  of  course  !"  replied  her  brother.  *'  The 
spirit,  perhaps,  of  the  wom'an  walled  up  to  perish  in  the 
room  with  the  murdered  man  !  Ugh  !  the  story  altogether 
is  hideous  enough  to  give  one  the  nightmare  !  And  now 
that  you  have  learned  all,  I  believe  I'll  go  and  send  Leni 
down  to  inter  the  body." 

Captain  Campbell  sauntered  away  and  the  lovers  were 
alone. 

'  *  And  what  do  you  think  of  this  story,  Willard  ?  "  in- 
quired Sybil. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  Yesterday  I  would  have  joined  your 
brother  in  laughing  at  it,  but  to-day " 

He  paused. 

'*  And  why  not  to-day  ?"  breathlessly  inquired  Sybil. 

''Sybil,  I  do  not  wish  to  needlessly  alarm  you  ;  but  last 
night,  as  if  to  punish  my  presumption,  I  experienced 
something  very  like  a  supernatural  visit." 

"  Good  heavens,  Willard  !  Then  the  story  told  by  the 
negro  3  is  true  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  seems  like  it.  Had  any  one  else  told  me 
what  I  experienced,  I  should  think  they  were  humbugging 


:l»  . 


THE  MIDXIOTIT  CRY. 


45 


m 


me  ;  but   I   cannot   discredit   what  I  saw  with  my  own 
what    was    tlio    appearance    of    tlie    noctiiral 


>> 


eyes. 

*'  And 
visitor  ?  " 

**  Exactly  like  the  description  ]Mrs.  Tom  gives  of  the 
face  that  appeared  at  tlie  window.  White  as  that  of  tlio 
dead,  with  darlc,  streaming  hair  and  wild,  vacant,  (hirk 
eyes." 

"  Oh,  Willard  !  Can  it  be  that — but  no,  it  is  impos- 
sible.    At  what  hour  did  this  apparition  appear  ?  '' 

*'  Between  one  and  two,  as  near  as  I  can  judge.'' 

"Strange,  strange!  I,  too,  heard  something  dreadful 
last  night.'' 

''  Is  it  possible  ?     What  was  it,  dearest  Sybil  ?" 

"Listen.  About  midnight  I  was  awakened  by  some- 
thing that  sounded  like  a  heavy  fall  right  outside  my  door, 
followed  by  a  groan  so  deep,  so  horrible,  that  the  very 
blood  seemed  freezing  in  my  veins.  Trembliug  with 
terror,  I  half  rose  to  listen  ;  but  all,  for  a  time,  wad  still. 
Trying  to  persuade  myself  I  was  only  dreaming,  I  was 
about  to  lie  down  again,  when  a  shriek  the  most  appalling 
broke  upon  the  air  and  died  away  in  an  agonized  moan. 
I  dared  not  move  ;  I  could  not  sleep,  and  I  lay  cowering 
in  superstitious  horror  until  morning.  With  the  bright 
sunshine  came  renewed  courage,  and  I  feared  to  mention 
what  I  had  heard  to  my  brother  or  you,  lest  I  should  be 
laughed  at,  even  as  you  feared  the  same.  Willard,  there 
must  be  some  horrible  mystery  here — some  foul  crime,  I 
fear,  has  at  some  time  been  perjietrated  within  those  walls. 
What  if " 

She  paused. 

"Well,  Sybil  ?"  he  said,  inquiringly. 

"  Oh,  Willard  !  what  if  this  house  has  been  the  scene 
of  that  mystery  the  dying  man  spoke  of  ?  1  thought  of  it 
from  the  first." 

"  Nonsense,  Sybil  !  What  an  idea  !  "  And  yet  he 
looked  disturbed  himself  as  he  spoke. 

"  How  otherwise  are  we  to  account  for  those  ghostly  visit- 
ings,  those  midnight  apparitions  and  appalling  shrieks  ?  " 

"And  yet  nothing  could  induce  your  brother  to  adopt 
your  belief,  lie  would  laugh  at  our  credulity,  were  we 
to  tell  him  what  we  have  seen  and  heard." 

"  Yes  ;  and  perhaps  I  had  better  uot  tell  him,  Willard. 


-^m 


11        ilil 


46 


THE  QUEEN  OF  TEE  ISLE. 


i    I 


li 


I    ,1^ 


ii 


I  will  have  your  room  changed,  and  my  own  likewise. 
Even  if  tliey  are  less  comfortable,  they  will  be  more  en- 
durable than  to  be  disturbed  by  midnight  specters." 

"  J3e  it  so,   then,   fairest  Sybil,"  he  said,   gaily.     And 
turning,  they  walked  together  to  the  Lodge. 


CHAPTER  VL 

"Off  with  the  old  love,  and  on  with  the  new." 

"  Holy  St.  Francis  !  what  a  clianpro  is  here  ! 
Is  Uusalie,  whom  tliou  didst  love  so  dear, 
So  soon  foi'sakeu  ?    Youuf^  nien's  love,  then,  lies 
Not  truly  in  tlieir  hearts,  but  in  their  eyes." 

" — Komeo  and  Juliet. 

The  following  night  passed  without  disturbance,  either 
earthly  or  ghostly,  at  Campbell's  Lodge. 

Early  in  the  morning  Captain  Campbell  wen!  over  to 
the  mainland  on  business.  And  Sybil,  accompanied  by 
Drummond,  went  down  to  the  cottage  to  visit  Mrs.  Tom. 
There  was  an  inward  feeling  of  pleasure  at  Sybil's  heart 
when  she  learned  Christie  was  away  to  the  mainland  on  a 
visit.  Not  that  she  doubted  Willard  ;  but  she  remem- 
bered Christie  as  a  very  pretty  child,  grown  by  this  time, 
doubtless,  into  a  lovely  girl,  and  it  might  not  be  altogether 
safe  to  throw  the  gay  man  of  the  world  into  dangerous 
society. 

Toward  noon,  as  they  were  sauntering  along  the  sun- 
shiny beach,  she  hanging  on  his  arm,  while  he  softly 
whispered  the  words  *' ladies  lovr  to  hear,"  they  espied  a 
boat  advancing  toward  them.  Sybil  raised  her  telescope 
to  survey  tlie  newcomers. 

"  Rev.  Mr.  Mark  Brantwell  and  wife,"  she  exclaimed, 
in  tones  of  surprise  and  pleasure.  "  Guy  has  doubtless 
called  upon  them  and  told  them  I  was  here." 

*^  Friends  of  yours  ?"  asked  Willard. 

^'  Yes  ;  the  Episcopal  clergyman  of  N ,  whom  I  have 

known  since  my  earliest  childhood.     But  here  they  are." 

The  boat  at  this  moment  touched  the  shore,  and  Sybil, 
disengaging  her  arm,  ran  down  to  meet  them.  Willard 
irnre  leisurely  followed,  just  in  time  to  see  his  lady  love 
folded  in  the  arms  of  a  gentleman  who  sprang  from  the 
boat.  The  stranger  vfas  of  middle  age,  married  and  a 
clergyman ;  yet,  in   spite  of  all,  Mr.   Drummond  felt  a 


THE  OLD  LOVE  AND  THE  NEW. 


47 


sudden  twinge  of  jealousy  and  anger  at  beholding  the  em- 
brace. But  the  next  moment  jealousy,  anger,  every  feel- 
ing was  swallowed  up  in  intense  astonishment,  not  un- 
mingled  with  superstitious  horror.  For  as  the  clergyman 
turned  round  and  Willard  obtained  a  full  view  of  his  face, 
he  recognized  the  countenance  of  him  he  had  seen  years 
before  in  tinit  mystic  vision  at  the  Egyptian's. 

For  a  moment  lie  stood  regarding  him,  pale  with  wonder  ; 
and  it  was  only  when  he  heard  the  clear,  ringing  voice  of 
Captain  Campbell,  as  he  approached  him,  saying,  with  a 
hearty  slap  on  the  shoulder  : 

**Why,  Drummond  man  alive,  what  ails  you?  You 
are  as  pale  as  a  ghost,"  that  he  awoke  from  his  trance  of 
surprise. 

*'  Are  you  ill  ?  "  said  Sybil,  anxiously,  as  she  approached, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Brantwell. 

*' A  light  headache — nothing  more,"  said  Willard,  re- 
covering himself  by  an  effort;  'Clothing  worth  being 
alarmed  about,"  he  added,  seeing  Sybil's  still  anxious 
eyes. 

"  'MVhy,  Sybil,  have  you  grown  nervous  and  cowardly  ?  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Brantwell.  *'  You,  who  used  to  be  as  bold 
and  daring  as  a  mountain  eaglet  ?  ]U\t,  perhaps,"  he 
added,  glancing  meaningly  at  Willard,  "it  is  only  where 
some  very  particular  friend  is  concerned  that  your  fear8 
are  thus  easilv  aroused." 

Willard  smiled  slightly,  while  Sybil's  dark  face  grew 
crimson,  as  she  hurried  on  with  increased  rapidity,  draw- 
ing her  companion  with  her,  and  leaving  the  gentlemen 
behind. 

When  they  reached  the  Lodge  Sybil  left  her  brother 
to  entertain  their  guests,  while  she  set  about  preparing 
luncheon.     When  the  meal  was  over  Mrs.  l^rantwell  said  : 

*'  And  now.  Miss  Sybil,  I  have  come  to  carry  you  off. 
It  is  three  years  since  I  have  iiad  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you,  and  I  shall  certainly  take  you  with  me  now.  Come, 
no  excuses — I  will  not  heav  one  of  them." 

"But  my  dear  Mrs.  Brantwell "  began  Sybil. 

"But  my  dear  ^liss  Campbell,  yon  must  conio — do  you 
hear  that  ?  Your  brother  can  certainly  do  wiihout  you 
for  a  week." 

"Yes,  and  glad  to  be  rid  of  her,  too,"  said  the  gallant 
Captain  Campbell. 


.5 
,  ■■*» 


48 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


!    k 


|i       ,;! 


Sybil  stole  a  glance  toward  Drnmmoiid  from  under  liei* 
long  eyelashes.  He  was  sitting  looking  out  of  tlie  window, 
with  an  exceedingly  dissjitisfied  frown  on  liis  brow.  Mrs. 
l^rantwell  perceived  the  glance,  and  broke  out  [igain  with 
her  usual  bluntness  : 

''And  as  for  that  other  gentlemen  you  are  looking  at, 
Sybil,  1  am  sure  he  will  be  generous  enough  to  spare  you 
for  a  few  days,  as  hv.  will,  in  all  probability,  have  enough 
of  you  before  long." 

Again  Sybil  crimsoned  and  glanced  reproachfully  at 
her  plain-K[)oken  friend,  and  jigain  Air.  Drummoud  was 
forced  to  smile,  in  spite  of  his  ill  humor,  at  the  good  lady's 
brusque  bluntness. 

"  You  will  have  to  come,  you  see,  Miss  Sybil,"  said  Mr. 
Brant  well,  laughing. 

"  Of  course  she  will,"  added  his  brisk  spouse;  **  and, 
upon  my  word,  1  think  lam  doing  her  a  favor  in  taking 
her  from  this  lonesome  island  and  letting  her  see  a  little 
of  civilized  life  at  our  hands  ;  though,  from  Sybil's  looks, 
I  should  sa/  she  doesn't  feel  at  all  grateful  for  it." 

"  liuleed,  Mrs.  Brantwell,  I  do,  but " 

''There,  there  I  I  won't  listen  to  another  word."  Aiid 
Mrs.  Brantwell,  a  tall,  good-humored  lady  clapped  her 
hands  over  her  ears.  ''Guy,  make  this  ungrateful  sister 
of  yours  hold  her  tongue  and  do  as  she  is  told." 

"  Come,  Sybil,  there  is  no  help  for  it,  you  see,"  said 
Guy.  "  Drummond  and  I  will  get  along  swimmingly 
during  your  absence.  He  can  keep  his  hand  in  in  making 
love  to  Aunt  Moll,  while  I  try  my  powers  of  persuasion 
over  ]\Irs.  Tom." 

Sybil  laughed,  and  paused  for  a  moment  in  thought. 
She  would  infinitely  have  preferred  remaining  on  the 
ishmd  with  Willard,  but  it  would  never  do  to  allow  them 
to  think  that  was  her  reason  ;  and,  after  all,  a  week  would 
soon  pass.  Had  Christie  been  home,  no  persuasions 
could  have  induced  her  to  go  ;  but  in  her  absence  there 
was  nothing  to  fear.  Then,  too,  Willard,  so  long  accus- 
tomed to  her  presence,  would  miss  her  so  much  when  she 
was  gone  that,  doubtless,  his  love  would  be  increased 
rather  than  diminished. 

Involuntarily,  while  thinking  of  him,  her  eyes  wandered 
to  where  he  stood.  Again  the  sharp-sighted  Mrs.  Brant- 
well observed  it,  and  again  she  broke  out  impatiently  : 


And 


said 
liugly 


■idered 
rant- 


THE  OLD  LOVE  AND  THE  NEW. 


49 


\ 


"Lord  bless  me  !  Mr.  Dnimmoiul,  just  turn  round, 
will  you  and  tuU  Syl)il  she  may  go.  Nothing  earthly  will 
induce  her  to  come  till  you  give  permission.  I'm  sure  if 
}ou  were  her  father  she  couldn't  be  more  afraid  of  dis- 
pleasing your  lordship." 

'*  Miss  Cam})bell  needs  no  permission  of  mine.  I  ara 
only  too  happy  to  think  she  will  have  an  opportunity  of 
enjoying  herself  so  well,"  said  Willard,  with  a  grave  bow. 

**  VV'ell,  I'm  sure  that's  a  mercy  to  be  thankful  for. 
Now,  perhaps,  you  will  come.  Sybil,"  said  the  plain-spoken 
lady,  "  and  as  for  you,  sir,  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  at  the 
parsonage  every  day  with  Mr.  (hiy." 

'*!  shall  be  mosthapj^y,"  said  Willard,  his  face  bright- 
ening a  little,  while  Sybil's  eye's  sparkled  with  anticipa- 
tion. 

"  Well  now,  run  and  get  ready,"  said  Mrs  Brantwell, 
turning  to  Sybil. 

Sybil  soon  reappeared,  dressed  for  her  journey.  And 
then,  as  the  afternoon  was  far  advanced,  the  whole  party 
descended  to  the  beach.  The  adieux  were  spoken,  the 
boat  pushed  off,  leaving  the  two  young  men  alone  on  the 
sands. 

*'  I  must  go  over  to  Westbrook  dockyard  tliis  afternoon,'* 
said  Guy,  *' where  the  Evening  Star  is  now  lying.  What 
do  you  say  to  coming  with  me  ?  " 

'' I  prefer  remaining  here,"  said  Willard,  who  had  not 
yet  quite  recovered  his  good  humor,  after  what  he  was 
pleased  to  call  Sybil's  desertion. 

*'  Well,  then,  I'll  remain  with  you,"  said  Guy,  who  was 
the  soul  of  frankness  and  good  temper. 

*' By  no  means  !  "  said  Urummond,  hastily.  *'Do  not 
stay  on  my  account.  I  have  a  slight  headache  Ptill,  and 
will  retire  to  my  room." 

"  But  it  seems  hardly  courteous  to  leave  you  altogether 
alone." 

*' Nonsense,  my  dear  fellow  !  I  insist  upon  it.  I  hope 
you  do  not  think  of  standing  on  ceremony  with  me  !  " 

**  So  be  it,  then,"  said  Captain  Campbell,  gaily,  as  he 
sprang  into  his  boat,  pushed  off,  and  shot  like  an  arrow 
out  into  the  water. 

Drawing  a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  Willard  Drummond 
lit  it  and  proceeded  to  stroll  up  and  down  the  beach,  in  no 
very  amiable  frame  of  mind.     He  felt  angry  in  spite  of  all. 


00 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


i 


'  .''11 


at  Sybil's  leaving  him,  and  with  this  feeling  would  now 
and  then  mingle  another  of  profoutid  amazement  at  the 
exact  resemblance  this  Mr.  Brant\/ell  bore  to  the  face  lio 
had  seen  in  that  singular  vision.  Was  the  fell  prediction 
about  to  be  verified  ? 

Lost  in  such  tlioughts  as  tiiese,  ho  was  suddenly  startled 
by  a  voice  singing  a  wild,  sweet  song  of  the  sea,  in  the 
clearest  and  most  deliglitful  tones  he  had  ever  heard. 
Surprised  at  the  unexpected  sound,  he  sprang  up  the  rocka 
in  the  direction  from  whence  it  camo  and  beheld  a  sight 
that  transfixed  hirn  with  amaiement. 

A  young  girl,  l)eautiful  as  an  angel,  stood  on  an  over- 
hanging crag,  witli  one  round,  white  arm  resting  liglitly 
on  the  rocks,  singing  to  herself  as  she  gazed  on  the  sparkling 
waves.  Her  hair,  of  the  palest  golden  hue,  rose  and  fell  in 
the  breeze,  and  flashed  in  the  sunlight  that  rested  like  a 
glory  on  her  bright  young  head.  Her  complexion  was  daz- 
zlingly  fair,  with  rose-tinted  cheeks,  and  full  red  lips — 
like  wet  coral — and  eyes  large  and  bright,  and  blue  as  the 
summer  sky  above  her.  Her  figure  was  slight,  but  round 
and  voluptuous  ;  and  there  were  passion,  and  fervor,  and 
wild  enthusiasm  in  her  look,  as  she  stood  like  some  ''tray 
seraph,  dropped  from  some  stray  cloud  on  the  loii  is- 
land. 

Willard  Drummond  stood  immovable,  drinking  in,  to  in- 
toxication, the  bewildering  draught  of  her  beauty.  She 
was  in  every  respect  so  very  different  from  Sybil,  tliat  she 
seemed  to  him  the  more  charming  from  force  of  contrast. 
Transfixed  he  stood — everything  forgotten  but  this  lovely 
creature  before  him — when  suddenly,  like  an  inspiration, 
came  the  remembrance  of  his  singular  dream,  and  of  the 
fatal  siren  with  the  golden  hair.  Strange  that  it  should 
have  come  back  to  him  so  vividly  and  painfully  then  ! 

The  young  girl's  song  ceased  ;  and  turning,  she  leaped 
lightly  as  a  young  deer  from  her  airy  perch,  without  per- 
ceiving him  who  stood  so  intently  regarding  her.  Leap- 
ing from  rock  to  rock,  with  a  fleetness  that  awoke  the  sur- 
prise of  Willard,  she  reached  the  road  and  disappeared 
within  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Tom. 

Everything  was  forgotten  now,  but  the  one  intense  de- 
sire of  knowing  m  ho  this  radiant  sea  nymph  was.  Turn- 
ing, therefore,  into  the  path  she  had  just  taken,  he  ap- 
proached the  cottage  and  encountered  Carl  at  the  door. 


!l!l 


THE  OLD  LOVE  AXT)  THE  NEW. 


51 


1 


"  Well,  Master  Henley,  how  arc  you  ?  "  said  Willard, 
carek'ssiy. 

'*  Htickiiirr  tofrother,'*  was  ^faster  Henley's  roneiso  and 
de.scriptivL'  answer. 

"(ilad  to  hear  it,"  said  AVillard,  repressiiii;  a  strong 
ineiination  to  lanoli.     ''  Is  Mrs.  Tom  within  ?" 

"  Slie  was  when  I  let'L  tho  huuso,"  said  Carl,  who 
seenieil  determined  not  to  commit  hitnself. 

*' Any  one  with  her?"'  a.i^ain  in<|iiired  the  young  gen- 
tleman, lookini,''  as  iiulifTerent  as  possihle. 

'•  No,  nol)ody  I  "  was  the  unoxp(>eted  answer. 

''  Wiiat  I  "  exclaimed  Wilhird  surprised.  **  I  thought  I 
saw  a  yoiin;;  lady  enter  a  momcTit  ago  ! " 

<' Oh  I — (.'kristie,  she's  nobody/'  said  the  gallant  Mr. 
Heidey. 

"  Ciiristie — "NFrs.  Tom's  niece — I  thought  she  was 
away  ! ''  exclaimed  Willard. 

"  So  she  was,  but  I  \\  ^ut  for  her  this  morning  ;  couldn't 
he  bothered  doing  her  work  and  my  own  both,  any  longer," 
said  Carl. 

<^  I  suppose  I  may  go  in  ?  *'  said  Willard,  feeling  n 
sudden  thrill  of  plcasur  at  the  knowledge  that  this  ra- 
diant girl  was  an  iidnibitant  of  the  island. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  may,  if  you  like,"  said  Carl,  in  a 
to7ie  of  the  utmost  unconcern. 

Thus  kindly  permitted,  Willard  advanced  and  rapped 
at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by  Mrs.  Tom,  whose  surprise 
was  only  equaled  by  her  delight  at  being  honored  by  this 
unexpected  visit.  Near  the  window  that  overlooked  tho 
Lodge,  stood  the  golden-haired  vision  of  the  beach.  She 
turned  round  with  a  quick,  shy  glance,  and  blushed 
most  enchantingly  beneath  the  deep,  dark  eyes  of  tho 
stranger. 

''  My  niece,  Christie.  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  ^Frs.  Tom, 
directing  his  attention  to  her  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  ; 
''she  got  back  this  mornin'.  I  allers  find  it  powerful 
lonesome  here  without  Christie." 

"  J  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  seating 
himself;  ''but  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss 
Christie  before." 

"Where?"  asked  Christie,  opening  her  blue  eyes  in 
wonder. 

**  Down  on  the  beach  a  few  moments  ago." 


^^ 


•i:* 


I 


11. 

W:  1', 


62 


rv 


rilE  QUEEX   OF  THE  ISLE. 

*'  Oh.  yes  !"  And  Cliristio  ])liished,  as  she  recollected 
liow  slie  had  been  caught  singing. 

"Where's  Mi^s  Sybil  and  Master  Guy  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Tom. 

"  Miss  Sybil  lias  gone  to  X with   tlie  clergyman's 

family,  and  will  not  return  for  a  week  ;  and  Captain 
Campbell  has  gone  to  Westbrook,  where  liis  vessel  is  un- 
dergoing repairs.  So  I  am  left  all  alone,  and  came  to  pay 
my  respects  to  you." 

"liien  you'll  stay  and  spend  the  evenin' ,"  said  Mrs. 
Tom,  smiling  comphicently. 

Mr.  Drummond  professed  his  willingness,  and  the  little 
widow,  deliglited  at  tlie  condescension,  set  about  prepar- 
ing tea  instantly,  assisted  by  Christie,  whose  wild,  sliy 
ghiu'^es  were  bent  on  his  face  whenever  siie  fancied  her- 
self unobserved.  Half  pleased,  half  afraid  of  liim  at  first, 
she  was  reserved  and  timi'l  ;  but  as  tliis  wore  off,  he  drew 
her  into  conversation,  and,  to  his  sui'prise,  found  her  in- 
telligent and  well  educated.  This  Mrs.  Tom  accounted 
for  by  saying  she  had  gone  to  school  for  the  last  five  years 
at  Westbrook — residing  therewith  tlie  friend  she  had  been 
now  visiting. 

The  evening  passed  away  with  the  rapidity  of  magic. 
Cliristie,  after  mucii  solicitation,  consented  to  sing  for 
him  ;  and  if  anything  had  been  needed  to  fairly  enchant 
him,  that  sweet,  clear  voice  would  liave  done  it.  Then, 
too,  Carl  added  to  the  general  hilarity,  by  drawing  out  a 
rusty  jews-harp,  and  playing  a  favorite  tune  of  liis  own 
composition.  Xot  once  during  the  evening  did  Willard 
think  of  Sybil ;  her  dark,  resplendent  face,  and  ,/ild,  fierce 
black  eyes  were  forgotten  for  the  golden  locks  and  sweet, 
fair  face  of  Blue-eyed  Christie — this  dainty  island 
Peri. 

'J'he  hour  for  leaving  came  all  too  soon.  As  he  rose,  re- 
luctantly, to  go,  he  pressed  the  hand  Christie  extended  to 
his  lips  with  such  passionate  ardor  that  tlie  blood  fluslied 
to  her  very  temples,  but  not  with  displeasure.  Ere  he  left, 
Mrs.  Tom  cordiallv  invited  him  to  visit  her  house  while 
he  remained  on  the  island — an  invitation  he  was  not  loth 
in  accepting. 

Christie  stood  at  the  window,  watching  liis  tall,  elegant 
form,  as  he  walked  toward  the  castle  in  the  bright,  clear 
moonlight. 


THE  HEART'S  STRUGGLE. 


5'^ 


"  I  like  him,  Cousin  Christie,  don^t  you  ?  "  said  Carl, 
when  he  had  gone. 

But  Cousin  Cliristie  turned  away  witiiout  reply  ;  long- 
ing to  lay  her  burning  cheek  on  the  pillow,  and  muse  over 
the  new  and  delicious  joy  that  was  thrilling  her  whole 
heart,  and  in  her  slumber  to  lie  dreaming  '•  love's  young- 
dream.'' 

And  Willard  Drummond,  forgetting  his  vows,  forget- 
ting Sybil,  forgetting  honor,  forgetting  all  but  this  lovely 
island  maiden,  sought  his  couch  with  but  one  uuiiie  on  his 
heart  and  lips,  "  Christie,  Christie  1" 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE  heart's    .STRUGCtLE. 

"  She  loves,  but  knows  not  wliom  she  loves, 

Nor  what  his  ruoe,  nor  whence  he  came  ; 
Like  one  who  nioets  in  Imlian  fjroves 

Some  beauteous  bird  without  a  name, 
Brout^ht  by  the  last  ambrosial  breeze 

To  show  his  plunuiyre  for  a  day 

To  wondering  eyes,  then  wing  away." 

—Lallah  Rookh. 

Pale,  feverish  and  unrefrcshed,  after  anight  of  restless 
dreams,  Willard  Drummond  arose  from  a  vision  of  Christie 
to  hail  a  new  day. 

Passion  and  principle  were  at  war  already.  Bound  by 
every  pledge  of  love — by  every  vow — to  Sybil,  his  whole 
soul  was  steeped  in  this  new,  all-absorbing  passion  that 
had  taken  possession  of  him.  He  had  fancied  he  loved 
her,  until  he  beheld  radiant,  dazzling,  bewildering  Chris- 
tie, and  from  that  moment  he  could  have  yielded  heaven 
for  her.  Every  feeling  of  his  inmost  heart  and  soul  was 
up  in  arms.  Every  feeling  of  honor  bnde  him  fly  from  this 
intoxicating  siren,  whose  power  he  felt  growiiig  stronger 
each  moment  over  him  ;  but  the  voice  of  passion  cried  : 
*'  Remain — love  her  if  you  will.  What  right  has  Sybil  to 
stand  between  you  and  the  heaven  of  your  dreams  ?"  And, 
like  all  who  allow  the  struggle  between  right  jind  wrong 
to  wage  its  warfare  in  their  bosom,  Willard  Drummond 
Avas  lost.  For,  with  his  hot,  fervid,  southern  nature, 
ivorldly    considerations,    former  vows,    reason,  principle. 


I  ! 


II    ! 


54 


THE  O.UEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


r  I 


I' 


'  * 

•;'- 


i      i' 


f 


'     '■     A' 

11   !fi. 


f 


iustice,  even  honor,  were  swept  away  like  a  wall  of  smoke 
Defore  the  fierce  impetuosity  of  passion. 

With  a  head  throbbing  and  pulse  quick  and  feverish 
witli  the  inward  conflict,  Willard  descended  to  broakiast. 

Captain  Campbell  stood  in  the  sitting-room,  awaiting  hia 
coming.  With  a  courteous  "  good  morning,"  he  advanced 
to  meet  him,  but  started  back  in  surprise  at  beholding  his 
extreme  pallor. 

"  My  dear  fellow  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  atone  of  solicitude, 
*'  you  are  ill — very  ill,  I  am  afraid.  What  in  the  world  is 
the  matter  ?  '* 

"  Notliing.  I  had  bad  dreams  and  did  not  sleep  well," 
said  Drummond,  with  a  forced  smile.  *'  A  cup  of  Aunt 
Moll's  excellent  coffee  will  set  me  all  right  again." 

*'  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Captain  Campbell, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  anxiously  on  his  face.  ''  You  are  look- 
ing terribly  feverisli,  and  you  were  comi)laining  of  a 
headache  yesterday.  1  hope  you  are  not  going  to  be 
ill." 

*'  I  assure  you  it  is  nothing,"  said  Willard,  in  a  tone  of 
slight  impatience.  ''You  are  needlessly  alarming  your- 
self.    A  bad  night's  rest  is  the  cause  of  it  all." 

"  Well,  if  it  is  not,  I  will  have  to  call  up  Mrs.  Tom  to 
nurse  you  till  Sybil  comes.  And,  by  t.ie  way,  I  regret  ex- 
ceedingly that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  you  solitary  and 
alone  tor  some  days.  Important  business,  that  cannot  be 
postponed,  demands  my  immediate  attention." 

Willard's  heart  suddenly  bounded — he  would  scarcely 
have  acknowledged  to  himself  the  reason — at  the  words. 

*'  It  seems  hardly  courteous  or  liospitable  to  leave  you 
thus,"  continued  the  young  captain  ;  "but  I  know  you 
will  excuse  me,  my  dear  fellow,  when  I  tell  you  it  cannot 
possibly  be  helped. " 

*'0h,  certainly — certainly!"  interrupted  Drummond, 
cordially.  "  Go,  by  all  means.  I  will  get  along  well 
enough  in  your  absence.     When  do  you  leave  ?" 

''  Immediately  after  breakfast.  It  is  an  affair  that  can- 
not  be  postponed.  In  fact,  I  will  not  have  time  even  to 
go  and  see  Sybil ;  but  as  you  will  probably  be  tliere  during 
the  day,  you  can  tell  her.  Perhaps  you  will  come  over  to 
the  mainland  witli  nie  ?" 

**  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Willard,  with  affected  careless- 
ness.    "  I  may  go  during  the  course  of  the  day." 


THE  HEART'S  STRUGGLE.  ' 


55 


fy 


"But  how?    I  will  take  the  boat." 

**0h  !  with  Carl  Henley  ;  he  has  one,  I  believe.' 

"  Well,  suit  yourself.  And  now  I'm  off.  Take  care  of 
yourself,  my  boy,  and  an  revoir." 

'*  Good-by,"  said  AVillard,  accompanying  him  to  the 
door  ;  "  Aunt  Moll  and  I  will  keep  bachelor's  hall  till  you 
come  back." 

Captain  Guy  laughed  and  hurried  down  to  the  beach. 

And,  when  he  was  gone,  Willard  arranged  his  slightly 
disordered  dress  and  disheveled  locks,  and,  sauntering  out, 
almost  mechanically  took  the  road  to  the  cottage. 

It  came  in  sight,  at  last — this  little  quaint  old  house, 
that  held  all  of  heaven  to  him  now. 

"  Shall  I  enter — shall  I  thrust  myself  into  temptation  ?  " 
was  his  inward  thought.  ''  If  I  look  again  on  this  fairy 
sylph,  I  am  lost  ! " 

lie  thought  of  Sybil,  and  her  dark,  bright,  menacing 
eyes  arose  before  him,  as  if  to  warn  him  back. 

''  For  your  honor's  sake — for  your  life's  sake — for  your 
sonFs  sake — go  not  there  !  "  said  the  threatening  voice  of 
conscience. 

"  And  have  I  not  a  right  to  love  whom  I  please  ? 
Why  should  I  offer  violence  to  myself  in  leaving  this 
bright  encliantress  for  that  dark,  wild  Amazon  ?  Go,  go 
and  be  happy,"  said  passion. 

And,  as  if  to  overthrow  his  last  good  resolution,  the 
image  of  Christie,  radiant,  dazzling  and  beautiful,  as  he 
had  beheld  her  first  in  the  bright  flush  of  the  fading  sun- 
light, arose  before  him,  and  once  again  passion  conquered. 

He  approached  and  entered  the  cottage. 

Mrs.  Tom  sat  near  the  window,  spinning  and  singing  to 
herself.  Willard's  eyes  wandered  around  in  search  of  an- 
other ;  but  bright  Christie  was  not  to  be  seen. 

The  widow  arose,  smilingly,  to  welcome  her  guest,  and 
placed  a  chair  for  him  near  herself.  And  still  Willard 'a 
eyes  went  wandering  around  the  room. 

''She  will  appear  presently,"  bethought,  not  yet  liking 
to  inquire  for  her. 

"  What  a  venerable-looking  affair  your  wheel  is,  Mrs. 
To!n,"  he  said,  surveying  it,  with  its  hard  polished  wood, 
and  bright  brass  rings. 

''  Yes  ;  it's  as  old  as  the  hills,"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  resum- 
ing her  work  ;  "  and's  been  in  our  family  since  the  flood. 


'I 


I'  % 

1 1 


t 


1 1 


I! 


'     f 


56 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


1  think  1  spun  on  that  there  wheel  all  the  yarn  that  makes 
the  socks,  mittens  and  comforters  for  half  the  county 
round  ;  besides  making  sheets,  blankets  and  lots  of  other 
tilings  for  ourselves,"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  with  conscious  pride. 

'^  You  deserve  a  premium  for  industry,  Mrs.  Tom,"  said 
Willard. 

**  Well,  you  may  be  jokin'  now,  and  1  dare  say  you  are  ; 
bui;  it's  true,  for  all  that.  Many  a  true  word  is  spoke  in 
jest,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  as  her  wheel  went  mer- 
rily round.  "  There  ain't  many  women  in  this  place,  o' 
my  age  and  means,  can  do,  or  does  do  more  work  than  me, 
though  I  say  it  as  liadn't  oughter.  I  knit,  and  spin,  and 
sew,  wash,  brew,  bake,  sow,  and  reap,  and  fifty  other 
things  too  numerous  to  mention,  besides.  Carl,  if  I  go 
up  there,  I'll  put  an  end  to  your  lazin\  you  idle,  good-for- 
nothing  vagabone,  you  !"  she  added,  ])reaking  off  in  sud- 
den wrath,  as  she  espied  Carl  leaning  on  the  spade  with 
which  he  sliould  have  been  digging  in  tlie  garden. 

**You  should  make  Carl  do  these  tilings,  ]\lrs.  Tom,^ 
said  Willard,  still  impatiently  watching  tlie  door,  and 
wondering  Avhy  Christie  did  not  come. 

*^  Carl  ?"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  with  a  sliort  laugh.  '' Lor'- 
a-massey  !  he  ain't  worth  his  salt ;  that  there's  the  laziest, 
most  worthless  young  scapegoat  ever  any  living  'oman  was 
plagued  with.  I  hain't  a  minute's  peace  with  him  night 
nor  day  ;  and  if  scolding  was  a  mite  of  good,  the  Lord 
knows  he  might  have  been  a  saint  by  this  time,  for  he  gets 
enough  of  it." 

AVillard  laughed.  And  in  such  conversation  tlie  morn- 
ing slipped  away — very  rapidly  to  ]\[rs.  Tom,  but  each 
moment  an  age  to  our  impatient  lover.  For  Christie  w;is 
absent  still ;  and  a  strange  reluctance,  for  wliicli  he  could 
not  account,  still  prevented  Willard  from  asking  for  her. 
It  was  an  inward  sense  of  guilt  that  troubled  liiin  ;  for, 
feeling  toward  her  as  he  did,  he  felt  he  had  no  riglit  even 
to  mention  her  name. 

At  last,  as  in  despair  he  arose  to  go,  Mrs.  Tom  relieved 
his  mind. 

''  Christie  will  be  disappointed  at  not  seeing  you,"  said 
the  old  lady,  following  him  out  ;  "  she  went  out  berrying 
to  the  woods  this  morning,  jind  hain't  got  home  yet." 

Willard  started  at  the  inforiuation  ;  and  inwardly  curs- 
ing the  folly  that  had  detained  him  so  many  hours  talking 


THE  HEART'S  STRUGGLE. 


57 


to  a  foolish  old  woman,  he  darted  off,  with  a  rapidity  that 
quite  amazed  Mrs.  Tom,  in  the  direction  of  the  pine  woods. 

'*  VVliat  a  confounded  fool  I  have  been  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
savage!-',  *'  to  stay  tliere  listening  to  the  way  to  make 
butter,  and  flannel,  and  '  yarb  tea,'  as  if  the  old  beldame 
thought  I  was  going  to  be  somebody's  housekeeper,  or  a 
female  doctross  ;  and  all  the  time  this  enchanting  little 
blue-eyed  witch  was  wandering  alone,  by  herself.  What 
an  opportuni!:y  I  have  lost  !  and  now  I  suppose  I  may 
searcii  for  an  hour  and  not  find  her." 

He  turned  iwi  abrupt  angle  in  the  winding  path,  and 
stilled  a  suchlen  oxchimation  of  surprise  and  delight.  For 
thei'c  before  liim,  reclining  on  the  grass,  with  half  veiled 
eyes  and  soft,  musing  smile,  sat  the  object  of  all  his 
thoughts,  wishes  and  desires. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  to  contemplate  the  picture  be- 
fore him  ;  for  if  (Miristie  had  seemed  beautiful  when  he 
iirst  beheld  her,  oh  !  doubly  lovely  did  she  appear  now  in 
lier  attitude  of  unstudied  grace. 

Her  dress  was  a  loose,  light  muslin  robe,  fitting  to  per- 
fe(;tion  her  rounded  waist  and  swelling  bust.  Her  straw 
hat  lay  on  the  ground  beside  her;  and  her  golden,  sun- 
shiny hair  lloated,  with  all  its  wealth  of  rippling  ringlets, 
round  her  ivory  throat.  How  dazzlini>iv  fair  hooked  that 
smooth,  snowy  brow,  contrasted  with  the  full,  crimson 
lips  and  delicately  flushed  cheeks — iiow  enchanting  the 
long,  curved  lashes,  falling  over  the  deep  blue,  loving 
eyes — how  beautiful  that  faultless  form,  that  soft,  gentle, 
li;i,ppy  smile  of  guileless  girlhood.  Wilhird  Drummomrs 
bi'eath  came  and  went,  quick  and  shoi-t,  as  he  gazed,  and 
his  dark  eyes  filled  with  a  subdued  lire. 

He  advanced  toward  her.  His  shadow  falling  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet  wus  the  first  token  she  had  of  his  coming. 
With  a  quick,  startled  cry,  she  spriing  to  her  feet  in  ter- 
ror ;  but  when  she  saw  who  it  was  that  stood  before  her, 
she  stopped  short,  while  the  color  lluslied  gloriously  to 
her  roundeil  cheeks.  Her  first  impression  was  :  lie  has 
read  my  thoughts  in  my  face,  and  knows  I  was  thinking 
of  him. 

"  Have  1   disturbed  you,  bright  Christie  ?"  he  asked, 


coming  nearer. 


urs- 


*' Oh,   no  i "  she  answered,  blushingly.     *•!    was   only 
T/aiting  to  rest  a  little  while  before  going  home." 


r 


^  I' 

I' 
It- 


I     '2 


as 


THE  QUEEK  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I   ^ 


"  And  dreaming,  I  pi*rceived,"  said  Willard  ;  *'  may  I 
ask  of  what — of  whom  ?  " 

*' I  wasn't  dreaming,"  said  Christie,  innocently.  *^I 
was  wide-awake  all  the  time." 

'*  Daj-c'roaming,  1  mean,"  said  Drummond,  with  a 
smile.  "Do  you  know,  fairest  Christie,  I  have  been  at 
your  cottage  all  the  morning,  waiting  to  see  you  ?" 

*'  To  see  me  ?*'  said  Christie,  with  another  quick,  glad 
blush. 

'^  And  not  finding  you  there,  I  have  come  in  search  of 
you,"  he  continued. 

"And  found  me,"  she  said,  laughing.  *' If  I  had 
known  you  were  coming,  I  should  have  stayed  at  home." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better  as  it  is,  bright  one  ;  for  I  have 
found  you  alone.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  have  found  so 
fair  a  companion  oti  this  lonely  isle." 

"Yes,  it  is  a  lonely  place,"  said  Chris^'e,  musingly; 
"and  yet  I  like  it  better  than  Westbrook,  or  any  other 
place  I  have  ever  been  in.  Only  I  would  like  always  to 
have  a  friend  with  me  to  talk  to  ;  and  that,  you  know,  I 
cannot  have  here.  Aunt  Tom  is  always  too  busy  to  go 
out ;  and  Carl  don't  care  about  the  trouble  of  talking, 
much  less  that  of  walking,  so  I  always  have  to  go  alone." 

"And  if  he  would  go,  I  fancy  Master  Carl  is  hardly  the 
kind  of  companion  Miss  Christie  would  select,"  said  Wil- 
lard. 

"  Not  if  I  could  find  any  better,"  said  Christie,  with  a 
laugh  ;  "  but  I  have  grown  so  accustomed  to  being  alone, 
now,  that  I  do  not  mind  it  at  all,  as  I  used  to." 

"  And  so  you  are  perfectly  happy  here,  fairest  Christie, 
reigning  queen  of  this  fairy  isle  ?  " 

"Ah,  no!  beautiful  Miss  Sybil  is  queen  of  the  isle. 
I  am  only  her  most  loyal  subject,"  said  Christie,  gaily  ; 
"  you  ought  to  know  that,  having  paid  her  your  alleg- 
iance. " 

"  AVhat  if  I  should  say  that  the  subject  was  more  lovely 
than  the  queen  ?"  said  Willard,  in  a  low  voice,  and  in  a 
tone  that  brought  the  hot  blood  flushing  to  Christie's 
face. 

"  I  sliould  say  you  were  laughing  at  me,  as,  of  course, 
you  would  be.  Certainly,  no  one  would  ever  think  of  me 
while  Miss  Sybil  was  near.  Oh  !  how  I  wish  she  would 
always  stay  here,  and  then  I  would  have  a  companion." 


THE  HEART'S  STRUGGLE. 


59 


it 


?) 


if 


ourse, 
of  me 
would 
ion." 


"Ah,  bright  one  !  if  I  were  in  her  place,  what  would  I 
not  surrender  for  such  a  privilege  !  " 

'MVould  you  ?"  siiid  Christie,  looking  at  him  in  un- 
feigned surprise  ;  ''  then  why  not  stay  ?  I  am  sure  I 
should  be  glad  to  have  you  here  always." 

Tier  innocent  words,  her  enticing  beauty,  her  childlike 
candor  were  a  strong  temptation.  For  one  moment  he 
was  about  to  fall  before  her,  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  to 
hold  her  there  forever,  while  he  breathed  forth  his  mad, 
passionate  love,  and  told  her  nothing  on  earth  should  ever 
part  them  now.  But  again  rose  up  before  him  the  dark, 
warning  face  of  Sybil  to  allay  the  fever  in  his  blood.  It 
seemed  to  him  he  could  see  her  black,  fierce  eyes  gleaming 
on  them  through  the  trees — he  could  almost  hear  her 
voice,  shouting — "  Traitor  !  " 

All  unconscious  of  tlie  struggle  raging  in  his  breast, 
Christie  stood  leaning  against  a  tree,  her  curved  crimson 
lips  half  parted — her  blue  eyes  fixed  on  a  cloud,  drifting 
slowly  over  the  sky,  little  dreaming  of  the  far  darker 
clouds  gathering  rapidly,  now,  over  the  horizon  of  her 
life. 

And  still  in  Willard's  heart  went  on  the  struggle.  lie 
dared  not  look  at  her  as  she  stood  before  him — bright, 
radiant,  bewildering — lest  the  last  lingering  remains  of 
fidelity  and  honor  should  be  swept  away  by  the  tierce  im- 
petuosity of  passion  in  his  unstable  heart. 

But  his  good  angel  was  in  the  ascendant  still,  for  at 
that  moment  the  voice  of  Carl  was  heard  calling,  loudly  : 

'^Christie  !  Christie  !" 

"  Here,  Carl  !  Here  I  am,"  she  answered  ;  and  in  an- 
otliei  instant,  honest  Carl  stood  before  thcin. 

"  Aunt  Tom  sent  me  looking  for  you,"  said  the  young 
gentleman,  rather  sulkily;  '-'and  I've  been  tramping 
through  the  woods  this  half  hour,  while  you  were  taking 
it  easy  here,"  said  Carl,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
hot  brow. 

"  It  was  all  my  fault,  my  good  Carl,"  said  Willard,  as 
Christie  hastily  snatclied  up  her  hat  and  basket  and  fled, 
having  a  j\u.t  terror  of  ^[rs.  Tom's  sharp  tongue.  *'  Make 
my  excuses  to  your  good  aunt,  and  here  is  something  for 
yourself." 

Carl's  dull  face  brightened  wonderfully  as  Willard  drew 
a  gold  piece  from  his  pocket  and  pressed  it  into  his  hand, 


60 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


and  then  turned  hid  steps  slowly  in  tlie  direction  of  Camp- 
bell Castle,  thinking  all  earthly  happiness  lay  centered  ia 
the  opposite  direction. 

Mrs.  Tom's  reproaches  fell  unheeded,  for  tlie  first  time, 
on  Christie's  ear  that  day.  She  heard  not  a  word  of  the 
long  lecture  delivered  with  more  tiian  the  good  widow's 
usual  eloquence  ;  for  she  was  thinking  of  another  voice, 
whose  lowest  tone  had  power  already  to  thrill  to  the  in- 
nermost recesses  of  her  heart.  She  loved  without  know- 
ing it,  without  wishing  to  define  the  new,  delicious  feel- 
ing filling  her  breast,  only  conscious  she  had  never  been 
so  happy  before  in  her  life,  and  longing  for  the  time  when 
she  should  see  him  again.  Ah  !  well  had  it  been  for  her 
had  they  never  met  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  TlllUMI'II  OF    PASSION". 

•'  All  other  passions  have  their  hour  of  thinking, 
And  hear  the  voice  of  reason.    This  alone 
Sweeps  the  soul  iu  tempests  !  " 


n 


"  Well,''  said  Aunt  Moll,  to  her  son  and  heir,  Lem, 
as  he  entered  the  long,  high  kitchen  of  Campbell's  Lodge. 
**  1  would  like  ter  know  what  dat  ar  Master  Drummin's 
up  ter  ?  I  doesn't  understan'  dese  yer  new-fangled  young 
men  'tall.  Fust  he  comes  a-courtin'  of  our  Miss  Sybil, 
and  jes'  as  soon  as  her  back's  turned,  he  goes  rite  off  an' 
takes  up  wid  dat  ar  Miss  Chrissy. " 

^''Tain't  no  business  your'n,  ole  woman,"  said  Lem, 
gruffly.  "  I  'spec's  as  how  Marse  Drummin'  knows  what 
he's  about." 

*^  Yes,  honey  ;  but  'pears  to  me  I  ought  to  tell  Miss 
Sybil  'bout  it.  Ef  he  is  her  beau,  he  oughtn't  to  be  takin' 
up  wid  dat  ar  Miss  Chrissy." 

*M^etter  let  Miss  Svbil  look  arter  her  own  beau,"  re- 
plied  her  dutiful  son.  '*  How  does  ye  know  he's  a-courtin' 
Miss  Chrissy  ?  " 

"  'Cause  I  seed  dem,  chile — yes,  I  did — las' night,  down 
on  de  shore.  De  moon  was  sliinin'  jes'  as  bright  as  a  new 
pan,  an'  I  took  dat  ar  litter  o'  kittens  down  to  de  shore  to 
Urown  dem,  wlien  I  seed  Marse  Drummin'  a-walkin'  along 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  PA8SI0X. 


Gl 


an 


jy 


down 

a  new 

ore  to 

along 


M 


wid  Miss  Chri.ssy,  aiul  lio  had  his  head  st()0])ed  down,  jes' 
so  ■' — and  Aunt  Moll  ducki-d  hor  woolly  head  to  illustrate 
it — "an'  was  whispcrin'  soft  stuff,  jes'  as  folks  do  when 
dey'ro  in  love." 

'"  Well,  what  don  ? ''  asked  rioni,  ;xrowinj^  interested. 

*^  Well,  dey  come  up  an'  seed  ine,  in  eoui'se,  an'  lor',  lor  ! 
I  jos'  wish  you  seed  de  look  Marse  Drunimin'  f]i;ive  nie. 
Toared  as  ef  he'd  'a'  liked  to  knijcked  my  ole  head  oiT. 
l^iit  I  warn't  afeared,  'deed  I  wa'n't,  chile  ;  so  I  jes'  stood 
still  and  drapped  a  curtsey,  an'  Miss  Chrissy  she  got  red 
rite  up  to  de  roots  oh  her  hair.  '  (iood  evenin',  marse 
and  young  miss,'  sez  1  ;  'dc  n't  he  skeered  ;  I  only  wants 
to  drown  deso  'ere  little  kitLcns,'  sez  I,  for  I  thought  as  I 
might  he  perlite,  jes'  as  well  as  not. 

*' '  Oh,  how  does  yer  do,  Aunt  Moll  ?  '  sez  Miss  Chrissy, 
a-laughing'  and  blushin' ;  *  how  is  Lem  and  yer  rheumatiz, 
dese  times  ?  ' 

"  '  T'a!ik  you,  honey,'  sez  I,  '  dey's  pretty  well,  bof 
ob  dem.^  An'  den  Marse  Drummin'  ho  pulled  her  arm 
rite  troo  his'n,  and  marched  her  off  wid  him  ;  an'  den  I 
pitched  de  kittens  rite  in  de  water  an'  come  home." 

"  Well,  dat  ar  warn't  much,"  said  the  skeptical  Lem. 
"  Dey  might  bo  walkin'  on  de  beach  but  dat  ain't  by  no 
means  courtin'.  Marse  Drummin'  walks  wid  her  'cause 
Miss  Sybil's  gone,  an  he  ain't  got  nobody  else  to  talk  to." 

'•^ 'Cisely  so,  'diile  ;  but  dat  ain't  all  ;  "  said  Aunt  Moll. 
**  Dis  berry  morning,  as  I  was  passin'  troo  de  hall,  de  sit- 
tin'-room  door  was  open,  and  I  heered  voices  a-talkin' 
dere  ;  so  I  listened  and  peeked  in,  an'  dar  was  Marse 
Drummin',  rampin'  up  and  down,  a-talking'  to  hisself." 

"Well,  dat  ain't  nothin',  either,''  said  the  still  contra- 
dictory Lem.  "  I've  hearn  dat  ar  Carl  talk  to  hisself, 
when  Miss  Tom  sent  him  out  to  work,  an'  he  ain't  in  love 
wid  no  one." 

"  But  listen,  honey,  and  don't  you  be  puttin'  me  out 
so,  'cause  'tain't  'spectf  ul — 'deed  it  ain't,"  said  Aunt  Moll, 
getting  slightly  indignant.  "  As  I  was  sayin',  I  clapt 
my  ear  to  de  door,  an' I  heered  him  savin'  jes' as  plain  as 
nothin'  'tall — '  Oh,  dischanting,  onwildering  Chrissy  !  ef 
I  had  nebber  met  you,  I  miglit  yet  be  happy  ! '  Dar, 
what  he  say  dat  for,  ef  he  wa'nt  in  lub  ?  " 

This  last  was  a  settler.  Lem  felt  that  his  mother  had 
the  best  of  the  argument,  and  unwilling  to  seem  defeated, 


I     '^ 


i; 


'I 


If 


ll    f  1: 


f       ;1     f 


63 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


lie  went  out,  leaving  tlie  old  lady  to  enjoy  her  triumph  iin- 
in  term  J)  ted. 

Three  days  had  f)assed  since  the  departure  of  Sybil,  and 
certainly  Willard's  conduct  seemed  to  juslily  Aunt  Moll's 
suspicions.  Unable  to  l)reak  tiie  tlirall  wliieii  bound  him, 
wishing,  yet  unable  to  tly  from  the  spell  o(  the  enchantress, 
he  lingered  still  by  her  side.  'I'here  were  shame,  dishonor, 
sin,  in  remaining  ;  but  oh  !  there  were  death,  misery  and 
desolation  in  going  All  worldly  considerations,  her  un- 
known birth,  her  obscure  connections,  her  lowly  rank, 
were  swe[)t  away  like  wtdls  of  cobweb  before  the  tierce  tor- 
rent of  passion  that  overwhelmed,  conquered  every  other 
feeling  in  its  impetuous  tide. 

And  she  loved  him,  this  angel  of  beauty,  this  fairy 
princess  of  the  isle — he  could  see  it  in  the  quick  flush  of 
joy  at  his  approach,  the  quick,  burning  glances  shot  from 
her  beautiful  eyes,  more  quickly  averted  when  ti)ey  met 
his — her  low  impassioned  tones,  her  bright,  beautiful 
blushes.  There  was  joy ;  there  was  rapture  in  tho 
thought  ;  and  yet,  unless  he  forgot  honor,  vows,  all  that 
should  have  been  sacred,  what  did  this  love  avail  ? 

And  so,  like  a  tempest-tossed  bark  on  a  tempest-tossed 
sea,  he  strove  with  passion  and  honor,  love  and  remorse, 
right  and  wrong. 

Once  only,  fearing  lest  her  suspicions  might  be  aroused 
by  his  absence,  he  liad  visited  Sybil,  whose  rapturous 
greeting  and  confiding  love  made  him  feel  far  more  of  a 
villain  than  ever.  He  looked  forward  with  dread  to  the 
period  of  her  return,  fearing  for  the  discovery  of  his 
falsity  ;  but,  more  than  all,  fearing  for  the  effects  of  he:* 
fierce  wrath  on  Christie,  knowing  well  what  must  be  the 
strength  of  Sybil's  lion  passions  when  nnchained. 

And  so,  when  Mrs.  Brantwell  proposed  that  Sybil  slionld 
remain  with  her  another  week,  instead  of  returning  to  the 
dreary  isle,  instead  of  feeling  irritated  now,  he  backed 
the  proposal,  saying  that  perhaps  it  would  be  better  for 
her  to  do  so,  more  especially  during  her  brother's  absence. 

And  Sybil,  in  her  deep  love  and  woman's  trust,  sus- 
pecting nothing,  fearing  nothing,  consented,  to  the  inward 
joy  and  sincere  relief  of  her  false  lover. 

Resolving  to  visit  her  frequently,  and  so  allay  any  sus- 
picions that  his  absence  might  give  rise  to,  Willard  Drum- 
mond  returned  to  the  island  and  to— Christie,  yielding 


i 


.0 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  PASSIOX. 


63 


\ 


iHsed 
rou3 
of  a 

io  t]\e 
•f  his 
i  her 

le  the 

lionld 
^0  the 
bcked 
^r  for 
seiice. 
sus- 
iward 

|y  sus- 
irum- 
jlding 


liimself  witliout  furtlier  eifort  to  the  witching  spoil  of  he? 
love. 

Mrs.  Tom  suspected  notliiiig  of  tlie  coiitniband  courting 
carried  on  under  hor  very  eyes.  It  was  the  most  nuLunil 
tiling  in  the  world,  she  th()iii;lit,  that,  in  the  ulLsi'iice  of 
Sybil  and  Jier  brother,  the  young  man  shonhl  spend  whole 
days  witli  them  ;  for  it  was  not  pleasiint  having  no  one  to 
talk  to  but  a  couple  of  negroes,  as  slie  very  well  knew. 
Then  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  lie  preferred  talk- 
ing and  walking  with  Christie  to  any  of  the  rest  ;  for  she 
was  *'  book  Tarned,"  like  himself,  which  neilhcr  she  nor 
Carl  was.  She  did  wonder  a  little,  sometimes,  and  said  as 
much  to  Christie,  why  he  should  stay  on  the  island  at  all 
in   the  absence  of  the  other. 

"But  I  si'ppose,"  was  always  her  conclusion,  ^Mt'a 
because  its  Miss  Sybil's  home,  and  for  her  sake  ho  stays 
there  until  she  comes." 

But  Christie,  though  she  only  blushed  and  was  silent, 
was  of  a  different  opinion — one  that  she  would  scarcely 
own  to  her  own  heart.  As  to  his  being  in  love  with  Chris- 
tie, Mrs.  Tom  would  have  scouted  the  idea  with  scorn 
and  unbelief,  had  she  heard  it.  Every  circumstance  was 
gainst  such  a  conclusion.  Ue  was  rich,  highly  connected, 
and  proud  as  a  prince  of  the  blood  ;  she  was  poor,  un- 
known, and,  compared  with  him,  uneducated,  liosides, 
in  the  good  widow's  opinion,  she  was  a  child  in  feeling, 
as  she  certainly  was  in  years,  scarcely  knowing  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  love. 

Ah  !  she  had  been  till  he  came,  and  his  fervid,  impas- 
sioned words,  his  burning  glances,  his  thrilling  touch  had 
swept  away  the  glamour  of  childhood  and  simplicity  and 
revealed  to  her  the  passionate  woman's  heart  within  her. 
His  words,  his  looks,  his  tones  were  all  new  revelations  to 
the  artless  island  maiden — changing  lier,  as  if  by  magic, 
from  a  child  to  a  woman.  She  revered  him  as  the  em- 
bodiment of  all  that  was  brave,  generous  and  noble  ; 
worshiped  him  as  a  god,  and  loved  him  with  all  the 
atfection  of  her  fresh  young  heart,  with  all  the  ardor  of  a 
first  deep  love. 

As  yet  she  know  not  whether  that  love  was  returned  ; 
for,  unfaithful  as  he  was  in  thought  to  Sybil,  passion  liad 
not  yet  so  totally  conquered  his  reason  as  to  make  him  sin 
iu  words.     He  liad  never  said,  *' Christie,  I  love  you;*' 


■i 


64 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


!i  i 


!' 


ii 


but  ah  I  how  often  had  Lis  eyes  said  this  and  mnch  more  ; 
and  how  long  would  even  this  slight  barrier  stand  before 
the  fiery  impetuosity  of  unstable  youth  ? 

And  so  that  day  i)assed,  and  the  next,  and  the  next, 
and  the  next  ;  Jiiul  with  every  passing  hour  the  temptation 
grew  stronger  and  harder  to  be  resisted.  Matters  must 
come  to  a  crisis  now  or  never.  Sybil,  in  a  day  or  two,  would 
be  home,  and  this  wild  frenzy  of  his  could  be  hidden  no 
longer.  H  she  should  come,  as  matters  stood  now,  all 
v.ould  be  lost. 

And  thus,  torn  between  conflicting  emotions,  Willard 
sought  Christie  on  the  day  before  Sybil  was  expected 
home,  with  the  determination  of  bringing  this  struggle 
to  an  end  then  and  there. 

It  was  a  glorious  August  afternoon.  The  island  wore 
its  brightest  dress  of  green,  and  nestled  in  the  blue  shin- 
ing river  like  an  emerald  set  in  sapphire.  The  birds  in 
the  deep  pine  forest  were  filling  the  air  with  their  melody, 
and  the  odor  of  the  wild  roses  came  floating  softly  on  the 
summer  breeze. 

But  Willard  Drummoud  was  in  no  mood  to  admire 
the  beauties  of  nature.  The  morning  had  been  spent 
in  pacing  up  and  down  his  room  hesitating,  resolving, 
doubting,  wishing,  yet  undecided  still.  For  when  duty 
and  principle  would  appear  for  a  moment  victorious,  the 
waving,  golden  liair,  the  blue,  beautiful  eyes  and  gentle, 
loving  face  of  Christie  would  rise  before  him,  scattering 
all  his  good  resolutions  to  the  winds.  And  mingled  with 
this  there  was  a  sort  of  superstitious  foreboding  of  evil  to 
come.  He  thought  of  his  dream,  and  of  the  yellow-haired 
siren  luring  him  on  to  destruction  ;  and  of  Sybil,  fiery 
daughter  of  a  fiery  race,  fierce,  vindictive  and  implacable 
in  her  wrongs. 

*'  Oh,  that  I  had  never  met  this  dark,  passionate  girl  !" 
he  murmured,  distractedly,  "  who  now  stands  between 
me  and  the  heaven  of  my  dreams  ;  or  would  that  I  had 
seen  this  beautiful,  enchanting  Christie  first  !  Oh,  for 
that  angel  as  my  wife  !  And  but  for  those  fatal  vows  once 
made  to  Sybil,  she  might  be  mine.  I  was  mad,  crazed,  to 
mistake  my  fancy  for  that  dark,  wild-eyed  girl  for  love  ! 
And  now,  for  that  one  mistake,  am  I  to  be  wretched  for 
life  ?  Shall  I  gave  up  this  beautiful,  radiant  creature  who 
loves  me  for  one  I  care  for  no  longer  ?    No;  the  struggle 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  PASSION. 


65 


ore ; 
3fore 

next, 
ation 
must 
\rould 
111  no 
V,  all 

illurd 
jected 
'uggle 

wore 
5  sliiu- 
rds  in 
lelody, 
on 


the 


admire 

spent 
olving, 
duty 
us,  the 
gentle, 
ttering 

d  with 
evil  to 

haired 
I,  fiery 

lacable 

girl!" 

|)etween 

I  had 

)h,  for 

^s  once 

ized,  to 

pr  love ! 

Ihed  for 

lire  who 

Struggle 


is  past.     Christie  sliiiU   be  my  bride,  and  I  will  brave  tlie 
worst  tliat  may  follow  !  '' 

Ho  set  his  teeth  iiard,  and,  as  if  fearing  second  reflection 
might  make  him  change  his  mind,  he  left  the  house  and 
hurried  out  to  meet  Christie. 

Down  on  the  shore,  under  the  shade  of  an  overhanging 
willow,  he  knew  Christie  had  a  favorite  seat,  wiiure,  on 
pleasant  days,  she  used  to  take  iiur  work.  Here  lie  was 
sure  of  finding  her,  and  in  that  direction  he  bent  his 
steps. 

She  sat  sewing  under  tlic  shade  of  tlie  drooping  willow, 
singing  softly  to  herself,  and  looking  like  some  sylvan  god- 
dess of  a  sylvan  s(M3ne  !  or  some  beautiful  sea-nymph  just 
risen  from  her  grotto  of  coral  and  crysttd. 

Radiant  and  bewildering  were  the  smile  and  blush  M'ith 
which  she  welcomed  him — a  smile  and  blush  that  might 
have  been  found  too  strong  even  for  more  jjotent  princi])lcs 
than  his. 

He  seated  himself  beside  her  with  a  look  of  moody 
abstraction,  all  unusual  -.vith  him,  watching  her  covertly 
from  under  his  eyelashes  as  she  bent  smiling  and  happy 
over  her  work. 

For  a  time  Christie  chatted  gayly  on  various  common- 
place matters,  but  at  last,  catching  her  tone  from  his,  she, 
too,  grew  silent  and  thoughtful.  She  bent  lower  over  her 
work,  wondering  if  she  had  olfended  him,  and  involun- 
tarily sighed. 

He  heard  it  and  said  : 

*'  And  wherefore  that  sigh,  Christie  ?  Are  you  un- 
happy ?  " 

"  No,  not  unhappy  ;  but  troubled." 

"And  why  should  you  be  troubled,  bright  one  ?  What 
can  there  be  to  grieve  one  so  fair  ?  " 

*'I — I — feared  I  had  offended  you/'  she  answered, 
timidly.     "  You  appear  out  of  spirits.*' 

*'  You  offend  me,  gentle  one — you,  who  never  offended 
any  one  in  your  life  ?     No,  no  ;  it  is  not  that." 

"  Then  you  are  unhappy,"  she  said,  shyly. 

*'  Yes  ;  I  am  miserable — wretched  ! "  he  cried,  vehe- 
mently.   *'  I  wish  to  heaven  I  had  never  been  born  ! " 

'*  0  !  Mr.  Drummond,  what  has  happened  ?  "  she  cried, 
laying  her  hand  on  his  and  looking  up  wistfully  in  his 
face. 


i'.  "Il 


.■ 


i  i 


n 


'  I. 


66 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


Iler  touch,  lier  tone,  lior  look,  swept  away  every  re- 
nuiining  trace  of  fidelity,  lie  forgot  everything  lie  sliould 
liave  remembered — his  vows,  his  honor,  his  truth — and 
saw  nothing  but  tlie  briglit,  radiiint,  bewildering  vision 
before  him.  In  an  instant  he  was  on  his  knoes  at  her 
feet,  exclaiming,  with  impassioned  vehemence  ; 

''  Chrisue  !  C'luistie  !  my  life,  my  dream,  my  liope,  I 
love  you.  See,  I  am  at  your  feet,  where  my  heart,  my 
name,  my  fortune  long  have  been.  AVitli  my  whole  heart 
und  soul  and  lifi;  and  being,  I  love  you  with  a  love 
stronger  than  d(^utli  or  the  grave.  All  tlie  devotion  and 
hopes  of  my  life  I  offer  vou,  if  you  can  only  say  you  love 
me." 

lie  was  ])ale{ind  panting  ;  his  eyes  were  lierceand  burn- 
ing ;  his  tones  low,  thrilling  and  passionate. 

Trembling,  slirinking,  blushing,  yet  with  a  deep,  in- 
tense, fervent  joy  tlirilling  througii  all  her  heart  and 
being,  Cliristie  listened.  The  blood  swept  in  torrents  to 
her  face,  neck  and  bosom,  wliieh  rose  and  fell  with  her 
ra})id  breathing.  Slie  dared  not  look  up  to  meet  his 
ardent,  burning  gaze. 

"  Christie,  Christie  !  niy  love,  ray  life  !  look  up — speak 
— answer  me — tell  me  tliat  you  love  me  !  '' 

Still  no  reply,  only  those  downcast  eyes^  d^^epest  blushes 
and  (piick,  hurried  breathing. 

"^  Si)eak  !  s})eak  !  my  beautiful  love  I  only  one  word 
from  those  sweet  lips,  but  one  touch  ot  your  dear  hand  to 
tell  me  I  may  live  !  "  ho  cried,  growing  more  wild  and  im- 
passioned. 

With  a  low,  glad  cry  of  intense  iov  she  buried  her  blush- 
mg  face  on  liis  shoulder. 

**  Thanks  I  my  heart's  tlninks  for  this,  sweetest,  love- 
liest Christie  I"  he  cried,  with  exultant  joy,  pressing  her 
yielding  form  to  liis  bouiiding  he;iit.  '•  My  life,  with  all 
its  hopes,  energies  and  ambitions,  shall  be  devoted  to  but 
one  purpose  now — that  of  rewar(iing  you  for  your  price- 
less love." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Drunimond,  your  love  is  all  the  reward  I 
ask  ! "  she  said,  m  the  deep,  t^arnest  voice  of  perfect  trust. 

"  Not  Mr.  Drunimond  now,  sweetest  CliTistie.  I  am 
Willard  to  you  now  and  forever.  Let  me  always  hear  that 
rnime  in  music  from  your  lips,  and  earth  has  no  higher 
boon  in  store  for  me.'' 


% 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TASSIOX. 


67 


,  lovc- 
Hg  her 

to  but 
price- 

Iward  I 

trust. 
1  am 
hiir  that 
higher 


M 


*'V>\\t,  oh  I  can  you  love  me  tlius — me,  a  poor,  litflo, 
nameless,  uncultured  girl,  while  you  are  rieh,  distin- 
guished and  higldy  eonneeted  ?  Oh  I  Willard,  will  you 
not  some  day  repent  this  choice — you  who  might  win  the 
highest  aiul  fairest  in  the  land  ?  '' 

"■  Iicpcnt  ?  Never  !  never  I  Perish  my  heart  if  it  ever 
admit  of  any  love  hut  thine  ;  palsied  be  my  arm  if  it  ever 
encircle  any  form  but  this  ;  accursed  be  my  li})S  if  they 
ever  perjure  the  words  I  have  spoken  now  ;  lost  forever  be 
my  soul  when  it  is  false  to  thee  !^'  he  cried,  with  passion- 
ate vehemence. 

**  Oh  !  Willard,  dearest,  liush  !  I  do  not  doubt  you— 
heaven  forbid  !  1  should  die  if  I  thought  you  could  be 
false  to  inc." 

"  Speak  not  of  death  ;  it  is  not  for  such  as  you,  bright, 
beautiful  Chr'stie.  And  now  only  one  thing  is  wanting 
to  make  me  the  happiest  of  men." 

She  lifted  her  radiant  face  with  a  look  of  earnest  inquiry. 

"  Christie,  one  little  word  from  you,  and  ere  the  sun 
rises  on  another  day  my  joy  will  be  complete — my  cup  of 
earthly  hap})iness  will  be  tilled  to  the  brim." 

Still  the  same  earnest,  anxious  gaze. 

*'  Dearest  love,  you  will  not  refuse  ?  It  will  be  but  a 
small  matter  to  you,  and  will  make  me  supremely 
blessed." 

'•  And  that  ?  "'  she  inquired,  Avonderingly. 

"  Brightest  Christie,  be  my  bride — my  wife  !  "  he  cried, 
folding  her  closer  in  his  arms  and  speaking  in  a  thrilling 
whisper. 

Again  the  eloquent  blood  swept  'ver  her  stainless  neck 
and  bosom,  but  she  did  not  reply. 

''  You  will  not  refuse  me,  my  own  Christie,  this  last 
greatest  favor  ?  Comply  now — to-day,  for  if  the  present 
op})ortunity  passes  it  may  never  occur  again." 

*'  ]5ut  how — how  can  we  be  wedded  here  ?  "  she  said, 
shyly,  lifting  her  eyes  to  his  impiissioned  ones  and  drop- 
ping them  in  brightest  blushes. 

"  Christie,  yonder  lies  a  boat  ;  it  is  three  hours  to  sun- 
set ;  long  before  that  time  we  can  reach  Westport  ;  there 
we  can  find  a  clergyman,  and  there  you  can  become  my 
own  for  life  I  " 

"  Bnt  it  is  soon — so  sudden,"  she  faltered  ;  ''and  Aunt 
Tom— she  will  never  consent." 


m 


fr; 


":  '  ■!  I 


1^ 


68 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


yy 


*'  She  would  not  consent  anyway,  fairest  Christie.  She 
would  say  you  were  too  young — too  fur  in  social  position 
beneath  me.  Slie  would  not  believe  my  intentions  honor- 
able. In  sliort,  dearest,  she  would  raise  a  thousand  ob- 
jections, and  the  end  would  be  that  we  would  be  parted 
forever." 

*'01i  !  Willard,  it  would  not  be  so  bad  as  that;  if  you 
explained  it  all  to  her  1  think  she  would  consent.  Aunt 
Tom  is  good  and  kind,  and  loves  me  and  would  do  any- 
thing to  make  me  happy." 

"  That  may  be,  brightest  Christie  ;  but  that  very  love 
she  has  for  you,  and  her  wish  to  make  you  liappy,  would 
cause  her  to  hesitate.  For  she  would  repeat  the  old, 
senseless  saying  :  '  Marry  in  haste  and  repent  at  leisure,' 
and  think  the  best  way  to  make  us  both  happy  would 
be  to  postpone  our  marriage  for  years  to  come." 

"  But  this  secret  marriage,  it  seems  wrong,  sinful. 
Oh  !  Willard,  my  soul  revolts  from  it  !  If  I  could  only 
tell  Aunt  Tom  ! "  cried  Christie,  imploringly. 

''When  the  proper  time  comes,  dearest  love,  she  shall 
know,  and  all  the  world  shall  behold  my  beautiful  bride. 
But  until  then  you  must  have  confidence  in  me  and  wait. 

"  But,  oh  !  I  have  such  a  presentiment  of  what  may 
follow,  Willard — such  a  cloud  seems  to  enshroud  this 
secret  marriage  that  my  very  soul  shrinks  from  it  in 
fear." 

"  Christie,"  he  said,  drawing  back,  and  speaking  in  a 
deeply  offended  tone,  "you  do  not  love  me  !  " 

She  raised  her  bright,  beautiful  eyes,  so  full  of  love 
and  devotion,  but  did  not  speak.  Ko  words  could  have 
told  such  a  tale  of  perfect,  intense  love  as  did  that  quick, 
eloquent  glance. 

"  You  do  not  love  me  !  "  he  went  on,  in  the  same  deeply 
hurl  tone  ;  "  you  have  no  confidence  in  me,  no  trust,  no 
faith.  I  have  given  you  my  reasons,  good  and  valid  to 
any  one  else,  but  of  no  avail  with  you.  If  you  cared  for 
me  you  would  consent  to  wait  with  perfect  trust  in  my 
love  ;  but  I  see  you  will  not  trust  me.  Be  it  so  ;  there 
remains  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  leave  you  forever." 

"  Oh  !  Willard  ! "  was  all  she  could  say,  as  her  voice 
was  choked  in  tears. 

"  I  thought  I  had  found  an  artless,  loving,  trusting 
girl,"  he  went  ou,  with  increased  bitterness  ;  "  but  1  have 


s 


^: 


THE  VISIOX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


09 


this 
t  in 


in  a 


found  one  who  will  not  yield  in  the  slightest  iota  lest  she 
compromise  herself  in  Lhc  eyes  of  the  world,  who  fears 
what  it  will  say  of  her  more  than  she  loves  me.  Farewell, 
Christie  I  we  have  met  for  the  last  time.  Since  you  care 
for  vour  aunt  more  than  me,  I  leave  vou  to  her." 

He  arose  coldly  and  hauglitily  to  go. 

''  Oh,  Willard  !  do  not  leave  me  ! ''  was  her  passionate 
cry.  "  I  will  do  anything,  be  anything,  you  ask,  only  do 
not  leave  me  in  anger  ! " 

^MVill  you  be  my  wife  ?" 

"  Yes  f" 

"  To-n'ight  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  to-night  and  forever  !  " 

'•' ]\[y  own  gentle  love!"  he  whispered,  pressing  her 
fondly  in  his  arms,  "will  you  go  and  get  ready,  and  re- 
turn to  me  hero  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ?  " 

"  But  what  shall  I  sav  to  Aunt  Tom — how  account  for 
my  absence  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  dearest.  Li  a  few  minutes  I  will 
follow  you  to  the  cottage  and  ask  her  to  let  you  take  a 
sail  with  me  on  the  river  by  moonlight  ;  she  will  not  re- 
fuse me." 

"As  you  will,"  said  Christie,  turning  toward  her  home, 
while  Willard — triumphant,  exulting  and  dizzy  with  joy — 
descended  to  the  beach  to  prepare  the  boat. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


eeply 
t,  no 
lid  to 
d  for 


TTIE   VISIOX   OF   THE   ISLE. 

*'  But  soft  ;  behold  !  lo,  there  it  conies  afrain  ! 
I'll  cross  it.  though  it  blast  iii<'.     Stay,  illusion  1 
If  thou  hast  any  sound,  or  use  a  voice. 
Speak  to  me  !  " 


TIAMLET 


Fickle  fortuiu^,  that  often  favors  the  wrong  and  erring, 
certainly  smiled  on  the  lovers  that  day.  For  scarcely  liad 
Christie  entered  the  house  when  Mrs.  Tom  came  bustling 
out,  in  deep  distress,  saying,  in  heart-rending  toiu's  : 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  This  five-and-forty  year,  rain 
or  shine,  Fve  had  a  cuj)  o'  tea  for  breakfast  ;  and  now 
there  ain't  a  grain  in  the  house.     I  jest  know,  as   well  as 


i:r 


fH 


I 


•yo 


THE  QUEEN  OP  THE  ISLE. 


if  somebody  told  me,  that  I  won't  be  fit  for  iiothin'  to- 
morrow, when  I  ain't  got  a  cup  o'  tea  for  my  breakfast  ; 
and  tliere's  no  u.se  tryin'  to  nnike  tliat  there  good-for- 
iiothin'  Carl  go  for  any  to-niglit.  It  allei-H  was  my  luck 
to  liave  tlie  most  dreadfiilo.st  bad  luck,  but  I  never  thouglit 
things  wouhl  come  to  sicli  a  pass  as  this.  Scat  !  you 
hussy  ! ''  And  Mrs.  Tom  gave  tlie  cat  a  kick,  which  wa3 
her  usual  way  of  winding  up  an  address. 

*' Aunt  Tom,"  said  Christie,  ^'  let  me  go." 

*^  You  !     Are  you  crazy  ?     IIow  are  you  goin'  to  go  .'* " 

*^  ]\Ir.  Drummond  is  going  over  to  Westport  this  eve- 
ning, and  lie  wanted  me  to  go  with  him/'  said  Cliristie, 
turning  away  to  hide  a  rising  blush.  ''I  can  easily  get  it 
there." 

"  So  you  can,"  said  IMrs.  Tom,  considering,  '^  but  will 
Mr.  Drummond  return  early  ?" 

*'  Yes,"  said  Cliristie  ;  "  he  lias  .some  slight  business  to 
transact,  and  then  he  is  coming  imniedijitely  liomc.  The 
sail  will  be  jdeasant  by  moonlight,  and  I'd  like  to  go." 

"  Well,  go  then  ;  and  don't  be  gone  any  longer  than 
you  can  help.     Cet  two  poun's  of  hyson  at  3Ir.  Ginger's." 

*' Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Christie,  taking  the  money  and 
putting  on  her  hat  and  shawl  in  a  trembling,  agitated  sort 
of  way  that  at  any  otiier  time  !!\[rs.  Tom  must  have  noticed. 

She  hurried  out,  and  on  her  way  met  Willard  coming 
up  to  the  house. 

'*  Well,  has  Mrs.  Tom  given  you  permission  ? "  he 
usked,  in  pleased  surprise. 

Christie  related  her  errand. 

^''  The  gods  favor  us  "  he  cried,  gaily.  '•'  See,  Christie  ! 
the  sun  is  api)roacliing  the  west,  and  before  it  dies  out  of 
tlie  sky  you  will  be  what  heaven  lias  destined  you  for — 
my  wife  ! " 

''  And  to  be  that  for  an  hour  is  bliss  enough  to  re})ay  a 
whole  life  of  misery,"  she  said,  with  heartfelt  earnestness. 

^^  With  Tny  own  Christie  !  Will  I  ever  be  able  to  re])ay 
you  for  this  grace,  this  greatest  eartldy  blessing  that 
heaven  could  bestow  upon  me  ?"  he  said,  fervently. 

"  The  knowledge  of  your  love  more  than  repays  me  ; 
for  I  have  made  no  sacrifice,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

They  had  no\v  reached  the  boat.  He  handed  her  in, 
pushed  olf  the  boat,  took  the  oars  and  rowed  away. 

But  other  eyes  they  dreamed  not  of  were  upon  them. 


I 


I 


■I 
I 


I 


J) 


he 


tiiess. 

tluit 

me  ; 

»r  in, 

Dliem. 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  ISLE. 


71 


Erom  one  of  the  windows  of  tlie  high  cliamhers  of  Camp- 
bell's Lodge  Aunt  ^loll  and  her  son  Lem  wore  taking  ob- 
servations. 

*'  Dar  dcy  go  ! — off  a  sailin*.  What  will  ]\[iss  Sybil  say 
to  dat  ?  "  observed  the  scandalized  and  indignant  Aunfc 
Moll. 

'Mioin'  out  sailin'  doesn't  signify  nothin'.  Dey  young 
gemblum  wants  somebody  to  talk  to  as  ho  rows." 

^'  'Tain't  right,"  said  Aunt  Moll,  with  an  oracular  shake 
of  her  head;  "dar's  sumfin  wrong,  somewhere.  Don't 
b'lieve  ^liss  Sibyl  would  'prove  of  it,  nohow  ;  dese  yer 
young  men  ain't  to  be  trusted,  nowadays." 

'^  It's  nat'ral,  Marse  Drummin'  would  get  tired  o'  one 
gal — mos'  young  men  do — and  take  up  wid  annoder,  for  a 
change.  I'd  do  it  myself,"  concluded  Lem,  in  a  pom])ous 
tone. 

"  You  woukl  !  "  said  his  mother,  in  high  dudgeon  ; 
''  as  if  any  gal  'd  look  at  you,  you  brack  fool  !  Marnc 
Drummin'  will  get  hisself  inter  [i  hornets'  nest,  if  lie 
trilles  wid  de  'fections  ob  Miss  Sybil.  I's  come  to  de  di- 
clusion  to  conform  Miss  Sybil  ob  his  goings-on,  soon  ag 
ebber  she  arrives.     Dar  !  " 

And  having  thus  settled  the  matter  to  her  own  entire 
satisfaction,  Aunt  Moll  descended  to  the  kitchen  and  soon 
forgot  all  sublunarv  thinofs  in  the  celestial  bliss  of  smoking 
a  short,  dirty  pipe,  as  black  and  stumpy  as  herself. 

Meantime  the  erring  young  pair  were  swiftly  skimming 
over  the  bright  waters  in  the  direction  of  Westport.  The 
labor  of  rowing  precluded  the  possibility  of  conversation, 
and  both  were  silent  and  thoughtful.  Urged  on  bv  his 
intense  desire  of  completing  what  he  had  so  successfully 
begun — urged  on,  perhaps,  by  fate,  the  boat  seemed  fairly 
to  fly  over  the  sparkling,  suTi-bright  waves. 

Ere  the  last  ray  of  sunlight  had  faded  from  the  sky  the 
boat  touched  the  opposite  shore  ;  and,  drawing  Christie's 
arm  within  his  own.  Willard  set  o.f  rapidly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  town  of  Westport. 

And,  having  reached  it.  he  led  Christie  in  the  direction 
of  a  little,  obscure  Methodist  chapel,  while  he  loft  her  to 
seek  for  a  license  and  the  clergvman. 

in  a  short  time  he  returned  with  both.  Without  un- 
necessary inquiries  the  clergyman  hastened  through  tiie 
marriage  ceremony,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  passion- 


ir 


:  j! 


1^      I 

j!'  '• 
il 


.n 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


blinded  young  couple  were  man  and  wife.  Then,  hastily 
paying  the  clergyman  his  fee,  AVillard  led  his  bride  from 
the  church. 

"  My  bride  !  my  wife  !  my  own  forever  now  !  "  lie  cried, 
with  sudden,  passion  ate  exultation,  folding  her  to  his  heart. 

JUit  just  then,  with  a  sharp,  piercing  cry  of  thrilling 
horror,  Christie  sprang  back,  frightfully  pale — with  di- 
hiting  eyes  and  choking  breath,  gasping,  stifling,  suffoca- 
ting. 

''  In  the  name  of  heaven,  what  is  the  matter,  my  own 
Christie  ?"  he  cried,  in  wonder  and  alarm. 

But,  pressing  her  hands  over  her  heart,  she  sank  dizzily 
on  the  churcli  steps,  pale,  gasping,  trembling,  horror- 
stricken  still. 

"Christie!  Christie!  dearest  love!  what  is  it?"  he 
said,  anxiously,  encircling  her  with  his  arm. 

"  Oh  !  the  doom — the  doom  !  "  she  said,  shudderingly, 
hiding  her  face  in  his  arm. 

"  What  doom  ?  Of  what  are  you  speaking,  sweet  wife  ?  " 
he  inquired,  in  increasing  anxiety. 

She  rose  now,  and  passed  her  hand  over  her  brow,  as  if 
to  clear  away  a  mist.  Then,  seeing  liis  pale,  troubled 
face,  she  recovered  herself  and  forced  a  smile. 

"  Dearest  Christie,  what  was  it  ?"  he  anxiouslv  asked. 

"  Oh,  Willard  !  you  will  laugh  at  me  !  but  I  felt  it  ail,  I 
saw  it  all  so  plainly,"  she  said,  in  a  weeping  voice. 

"  Saw  what — felt  what  ?  I  do  not  understand,"  he 
said  puzzled  by  her  look  and  words. 

'*  Those  eyes  I  those  eyes  !  and  that  fierce  grasp  on  my 
throat,  and  the  keen  knife  !  Ah,  heaven  !  I  feel  it  jet." 
And  she  shuddered  convulsively. 

"  Are  you  raving,  Christie  ?  In  heaven's  name,  what 
eyes,  what  knife,  are  you  speaking  of?"  he  said,  begin- 
ning to  think  she  had  lost  her  reason. 

"Oh,  Willard  !  Willard  !  just  as  you  folded  me  in  your 
arms  and  called  nio  your  wife,  Sybil  Campbell's  tierce, 
wild,  black  eyes  arose  before  me,  glaring  on  me  like  burn- 
ing coals,  and  then  I  felt  two  strong  hands  clutch  my 
throat  and  a  knife  plunged  into  my  breast  !  0,  saints  in 
heaven  !  it  rises  before  me  yet  !  " 

"Christie,  you  are  mad!"  he  said,  vehemently;  but 
the  ashen  paleness  that  overspread  his  face  told  the  sud- 
den shock  the  name  of  Sybil  had  given  him. 


I 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  ISLE. 


73 


'hat 


jrce, 

luni- 

iiiy 

Is  ill 

but 
Isud- 


I 


In  all  the  terror,  horror  and  momentary  frenzy  of  that 
instant,  tlie  fear  of  his  displeasure  eon(|uered  every  otlior 
feeling  in  her  breast.  Siiaking  oif,  witli  an  effort,  the 
creeping  dread  that  was  palsying  every  nerve,  she  clung 
to  his  arm  with  renewed  contidence,  and  said,  with  a  deep 
bre.'ith  of  relief  : 

'^  I  believe  I  was,  for  the  moment,  Willard  ;  but  that 
has  passed  now.  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  dearest 
AVillard  ?"  she  said,  anxiously,  observing  the  cloud  tluit 
still  overspread  his  fine  face. 

**  Angry  ?  Xot  at  all,"  he  said,  gravely.  ^*Only  »,orry 
and  surprised  to  think  you  should  give  way  to  such  ex- 
traordinary delusions." 

''  Oh,  Wilhird  !  it  was  not  a  delusion  !  I  saw  it  all  as 
plainly  iis  I  see  you  now.  Oh,  those  dreadful,  dreadful 
eyes  !  they  will  haunt  me  to  my  dying  day  I  '' 

"  Do  not  think  of  it  again,  my  own  love,  and  do  not 
look  so  wild,"  he  said  sootliingly.  "  Come,  let  us  be 
going ;  the  moon  will  soon  rise,  and  it  will  be  late  before 
we  reach  the  isle." 

*'And  Aunt  Tom  will  be  anxious,"  said  Christie. 
*'And  that  reminds  me  of  her  commission,  which  1  had 
nearly  forgotten.  When  wc  reach  the  store,  you  can  wait 
outside.     1  will  join  you  in  a  moment." 

The  moon  was  just  rising  when  they  set  sail  for  the  isle, 
which  Christie  had  left  a  child  ami  to  which  she  was  re- 
turning a  wife.  Ah  I  where  was  their  better  angel  in 
that  dark  moment  of  nuidness  and  temptation  ? 

The  soft,  bright  moonlight  was  lighting  up  the  isle  with 
its  calm,  pale  rays  when  they  reuched  it.  The  cry  of  the 
whippoorwill  and  katydid  from  the  neighboring  forest 
mingled  with  the  soft,  dreamy  murmur  of  the  waves  on 
the  shore,  is  the  sweetest  music  that  ever  was  heard. 

Tempted  by  the  beauty  of  the  night,  our  lovers  pro- 
longed their  sti'oll  over  the  beach.  At  length,  as  it  began 
to  grow  late,  Christie,  fearing  Mrs.  Tom  or  Carl  might 
come  out  to  watch  for  her  coming,  persuaded  Willard  to 
let  her  return. 

They  walked  up  the  rocky,  romantic  path,  whispering 
those  low  and  often  foolish  things  so  sweet  to  lovers'  ears 
when  coming  from  the  lips  of  the  loved  one.  A  light 
still  twinkled  in  the  widow's  cottage,  casting  a  long,  thin 
line  of  yellov/  light  far  over  the  lonely  road.     But  no  other 


74 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I' 


sifjrn  cl  life  was  visible.  Christie's  ))lne  eves  were  bent  on 
the  groiiiul,  und  Wi  I  lard's  stately  bead  was  bent  above 
ber,  when  su(blenly,  looking  up,  be  bebekl  u  sight  whieb 
froze  the  blood  in  bis  veins. 

P'rom  the  dai'k,  mystic  pine  woods  a  white-robed  fiirnro 
came  floating  toward  them.  One  glance  sufiiced  to  tell 
liiin  it  was  the  strange  vision  that  had  bent  over  him  ji 
few  nights  before.  There  were  the  same  hollow,  rayless 
eyes,  the  s;ime  wild,  sti'eaming  black  hair,  the  same 
gliastly,  corpse-like  face,  with  its  fixed  look  of  unutterable 
woe. 

It  was  coming  stcnidily  toward  them,  tbis  awful  phan- 
tom. Willard  stood  fixed,  rooted  to  the  ground,  gazing 
as  if  fascirnited  on  the  appalling  specter.  His  next 
thougbt  was  for  Christie.  He  glanced  toward  ber  to  see 
lier  face  blanched  to  the  hue  of  death,  her  eyes  dilating  in 
horror,  fixed,  frozen,  unable  to  speak  a  word,  one  band 
raised,  and  one  flickering  linger  pointing  to  tbe  dread 
being  approaching. 

Neither  could  move  nor  speak.  Still  tbe  phantom 
floated  on  until  it  stood  before  them,  face  to  face.  For 
an  instant  it  paused,  with  its  hollow  eyes  glaring  npon 
them  ;  then,  with  an  awful  cry  of  "  ^lurdered  !  Mur- 
dered ! "  that  pealed  through  the  dim  old  woods,  it  threw 
np  both  its  arms,  and  with  a  shrill,  piercing,  agonizing 
sbriek,  fled  away  and  was  bidden  among  the  beetling 
rocks. 

Tbe  hand  that  grasped  Willard's  arm  was  growing 
weaker  and  weaker  ;  there  was  a  low  moan,  and  he  turned 
in  time  to  catch  the  senseless  form  of  his  child-wife  in  his 
arms. 

The  wild,  unearthly  scream  had  startled  Mrs.  Tom. 
Alarmed  and  wondering,  she  cautiously  opened  the  door 
and  went  out.  And  there  she  saw  Willard  Drummond 
with  the  senseless  form  of  Christie  in  his  arms. 


ONE  OF  FORTUNE'S  SMILES. 


75 


CHAPTER  X. 


?\ 


lid 


ONE  OF    FORTUNE  S   SMILES. 

Captain  Guy  Campbell  sat  in  the  parlor  of  tlie 
*' WesLbi'ook  House,"  as  the  Ihimiiig,  gilt  signboard  aii- 
iiouuced,  his  heels  elevated  on  the  window  sill,  liis  cliair 
tipped  siil)lirnely  back,  a  cigar  in  iiis  mouth,  and  a  news- 
paper in  his  hand.  Many  people  were  passing  in  and  out, 
some  3f  whom  he  greeted  with  a  nod,  others  with  a  brief 
salutation,  while  he  still  went  on  with  his  reading  and 
smoking.  Tliere  seemed  to  be  nothing  very  exciting  in 
tlie  paper,  judging  by  Captain  Cam])beirs  suppressed 
yawns  ;  and  he  was  about  to  throw  it  aside  as  worthless, 
when  a  ])aragrapii  cauglit  his  eye,  and  brought  him  to  his 
feet  as  suddenly  as  though  those  members  were  furnished 
with  steel  springs. 

The  paragraph  was  brief,  and  ran  thus  : 

''If  Mark  Campbell,  Esq.,  of  Campbell  Isle,  is  still 
alive,  he  is  earnestly  requested  to  call  immediately  at  the 

office  of  C.  Ringdon,  attorney-at-law,  No.    IG street, 

Westport.     In  case  of   his  death,  his  heirs  should  reply. 

C.   RlNCJDON.'' 

"Now,  what  in  the  name  of  Neptune  and  all  his  scaly 
court  can  this  mean  ? "  ejaculated  the  amazed  Captain 
Campbell. 

''Sliould  be  happy  to  inform  you,"  said  a  voice  behind 
him,  "  only  I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

Captain  Campbell  turned  round,  and  saw  a  fashionably 
dressed  young  man  who  had  just  entered,  standing  beside 
him. 

"Ah,  Stafford,  how  are  you  ?"  he  said,  extending  his 
hand;  "happy  to  see  you.  What  in  the  world  brought 
you  here  ?  the  very  last  person  I  ever  expected  to  see  in 
this  quarter  of  the  globe." 

"Well,"  said  Stafford,  leisurelv  seating  himself.  "I 
came  down  here,   nominally,  to  transact  some   business 


r 


i'     n  ' 


M 


! 


76 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


1 

!   ', 

; 

1 

for  the  governor  ;  but  the  fact  is,  I  lieard  the  Evening 
Star  had  arrived,  and  J  wanted  to  pay  my  devoirs  to 
Her  Majesty,  the  Queen  of  tlie  Isle.  How  is  pretty  Lady 
Sybil  ?  " 

"'  Very  well,  and  at  present  on  a  visit  to  the  Rev.  ^^r. 
lirantwelFs.  lint  look  at  this  advertisement,  here,  in  the 
Westport  Herald  ;  wliat  the  deuce  do  you  make  of  it  ?  " 

Stafford  took  tlie  paper  and  carelessly  glanced  over  the 
lines. 

''  Faith,  I  don^t  know.  Somebody's  left  you  a  legacy, 
perhaps." 

"  Fooh  !  what  a  notion  !  Who  under  the  sun  is  there 
to  leave  a  legacy  to  me  ?  The  Campbells  are  all  as  poor 
as  Job's  turkey." 

*'Well,  there's  your  mother's  relations — tlie  Eyres. 
Old  Richard  Eyre,  the  New  York  banker  is  a  millionaire 
worth  more  huTidred  thousand  dollars  than  I  would  under- 
take to  count.  He  might  have  died  aiul  left  you  his 
money." 

^'  And  leave  his  own  family  without  !  A  likely  story  !  " 
said  Captain  Campbell. 

''  My  dear  fellow,  he  had  no  family,  except  a  wife,  and 
she  had  been  dead  for  many  years.  You  may  be  certain 
he  has  left  you  his  heir." 

*'  ]?y  Jove  !  if  it  should  prove  to  be  true,  that  would  be 
a  streak  of  good  luck.  But  it  cannot  be.  Dame  Fortune 
would  never  bestow  on  a  Campbell  any  such  friendly 
smile.  They  always  were  an  impoverished  race,  and 
always  will  be,  I  believe." 

"  Don't  be  too  confident.  Strange  things  happen  some- 
times. For  instance,  I  saw  something  very  strange  a  night 
or  two  ago." 

•'^Yes"?  what  is  it?" 

'^  "Well,  you  see,  about  dark  I  was  wandering  about  the 
shore,  enjoying  a  cigar  and  the  beauty  of  the  evening,  and 
ruminating  whether  it  wouldn't  be  advisable  to  take  a  boat 
and  go  over  and  see  Her  Adorable  Majesty  Queen  Sybil. 
Most  likely  my  cogitation  would  have  ended  in  my  going, 
only — unfortunately — there  was  no  boat  to  be  seen.  I 
was  about  to  turn  away  in  despair,  when  I  suddenly  espied 
a  boat  containing  two  persons  land  at  some  distance  below 
where  I  stood.  One  was  a  young  fellow,  tall  and  good- 
looking — with  a  certain  air  of  aristocratic  hauteur  aboufe 


^ 


> 


it    ii^i 


ONE  OF  FOKTUXF/S  SMILES. 


77 


lit 


the 
id 
)iit 

"i 

[ed 

low 

)d- 


him  tliat  told  nio  lie  was  not  to  bo  intorfored  with.  But 
his  companion  !  O  yu  <j^o(ls  and  litth'  ILsIil's  I  what  u  per- 
f(!ct  little  sylpii  she  wa.s  I  Sucli  a  miraculous  rombinatioii 
of  blue  eyo.s,  yellow  curls,  snowy  complexion,  pink  cheeks, 
ant]  red,  kissable  lips,  it  never  was  my  _i;ood  fortune  to 
encounter  before.  Jiut  what  struck  me  most  forcibly,  was 
her  resemblance  to  some  one  1  had  seen  before  ;  and  after 
puzzling"  myself  for  a  long  time,  J  at  length  discovered 
she  was  the  very  image  of  pretty  little  Ciiristie,  of  the 
isle." 

''  Christie  !  oh,  pooh  !  it  couldn't  liave  been  she,"  said 
Captain  Campbell,  with  an  uneasy  start. 

"Of  course,  it  couldn't  have  been  she  with  so  dainty  a 
knight  us  that,  but  it  was  most  confoundedly  like  her,  or 
Avhat  she  was  wiien  I  saw  her  last — four  years  ago  ;  though 
1  dare  say  she  has  greatly  clianged  since  then." 

''Well,  what  was  there  so  strange  about  a  handsome 
fellow  and  a  pretty  girl  landing  on  tlie  beach,  to  interest 
tiie  nonchalant  Will  StalTord  ? "  asked  Captain  Camp- 
bell. 

"  Listen — I  haven't  got  to  tlie  strange  part  of  my  story 
yet.  They  walked  u\)  tlie  beach  to  the  road,  and  I  could 
see  the  girl  was  terrified  and  excited,  while  he  tried  to 
soothe  and  quiet  her.  My  curiosity  was  aroused  ;  for, 
'pon  my  soul,  Campbell,  I  never  saw  a  lovelier  little  crea- 
ture :  and  with  a  sort  of  idea  they  were  up  to  some  mis- 
cliief,  I  followed  them.  It  was  nearly  dark,  and  they  hur- 
ried on  so  fast  tliey  did  not  notice  me,  and  I  tracked  them 
into  one  of  the  most  obscure  streets  of  the  town,  and  saw 
them  enter  a  little  secluded,  Methodist  mecting-liouse." 

''  Well  ?  "  said  the  auditor. 

''  Well,  sir,  the  fellow  left  her  there  and  went  oil.  I 
crept  softly  in,  and  in  the  oljscurity  iiid  behind  a  post, 
determined  to  see  tlie  end.  Diirk  as  it  was,  I  could  see 
she  trembled  with  inward  emotion,  and  crouched  down  in 
her  seat,  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands,  as  if  terror, 
remorse,  sorrow,  or  some  other  feeling  was  weighing  down 
her  heart." 

"  Wonder  the  gay  Will  Stafford  did  not  approach  and 
offer  her  consolation,"  said  the  young   cajjtiiin  drvly. 

''By  Jove!  I  felt  like  doing  it,"  said  Mr.  Stafford,  in 
all  sincerity  ;  "  but  I  wanted  to  see  what  was  up,  for  I 
knew  now  all  could   not  be  quite  right.     Presently  the 


78 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


iff 


ii    ' 


young  man  cuino  biKik,  and  witli  him  a  minister.  All  was 
clear  a.s  stars  at  noonday,  now — tliis  was  a  runaway  mattdi, 
a  (dandostiiui  marrijiiji! — somothiiiij:  whicdi  is  always  intor- 
csting  to  fast  you ni(  men  like  mysoll'.  TIk!  lia|)iiy  pair 
stood  up  In'foru  tlio  cicrn-yMnin,  and  tho  twain  were  soon 
mado  one  ilcsh.  My  ears  wouM  liavi;  run  themselves  into 
points  in  order  to  hear  the  better,  but  1  listened  in  vain. 
The  minister  muml)led  over  thee(!rumony  so  confoundetlly 
low  that  1  could  not  hear  a  sijiiiic  woivl — not  even  the 
names  of  tiio  parti(\s,  which  I  was  particularly  anxious  to 
find  out.  1  su})posc  it  was  all  ri^dit,  however,  for  I  saw 
the  clei'UTmau  p(A-ket  tho  fee,  and  the  youui,'  man,  tuck- 
ini,'  little  Jilue-eyes  umler  his  arm,  walked  oil'  ;  and  faith, 
I'd  oiven  a  trille  to  have  stood  in  liis  jtlacc.  1  followed, 
nob  beiug  ambitions  to  be  locked  np  all  ni<^lit,  even  in  so 
holy  a  })lace  as  a  church.  Just  as  1  went  out,  1  heard  tho 
most  awful  shriek  I  ever  want  to  hear  again,  {iiul  tliero 
the  bride  stood  like  one  suildeidy  turned  to  stone,  while 
tlio  briilegroom  w;.s  trying  to  console  her.  What  scared 
her  I  don't  know,  but  certainly  I  never  saw  a  more  ter- 
rified look  on  any  face  than  was  on  hers.  Not  wishing  to 
bo  seen,  I  drew  back,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  started 
on.  I  followed  them  as  before,  and  saw  the  girl  stop  for  a 
moment  in  a  grocery  store,  while  lie  waited  outside.  Theu 
they  went  down  to  the  beach  ;  lie  handed  her  into  the  boat, 
pushed  off,  a?ul  they  were  gone — leaving  me  to  rub  my  eyes 
and  wonder  whether  I  was  sleeping  or  waking.  Now  what 
do  you  think  of  this  wedding  on  the  sly,  without  friends, 
or  witnesses,  or  anything  in  the  usual  line  ?  " 

'*  Well,  really,  1  cannot  say  ;  such  things  do  not  interest 
me  as  deeply  as  they  do  you.  Perhaps  it^s  the  AVestbrook 
fashion." 

**  No  ;  there's  something  wrong.  He  was  evidently  of 
a  rank  superior  to  the  girl.  I  could  tell  that,  both  by 
their  dress,  and  air,  and  general  appearance.  I  would 
like  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  mystery." 

"  Than  why  not  see  the  minister,  who  married  them, 
and  find  out  from  him  ?" 

'*  Well,  for  sundry  reasons.  First,  I  didn't  see  his  face, 
and  wouldn't  know  him  if  I  stumbled  over  him.  Second, 
it  looks  so  like  a  rascally,  low-l)rcd  trick,  this  tracking 
them  and  playing  the  spy,  that  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
tell  any  one  of  it,  but  so  old  a  friend  as  you." 


f 


i'    -'111 


ONE  OF  FOUTUXE'S  SMILKS. 


79 


3St 

ok 
of 

lid 

im, 


50, 

Ing 
to 


**  Well,  tlien,  never  mind  tliin  inysterluus  couple  jiny 
iiioru,"  siiid  ('i4)tiiiu  Cunijibt'll,  im[)iit  iciilly  ;  ''but  tell  mo 
Avliiit  I  luid  better  do  jil)()iit  this  udvert iscmeiit." 

•'  Why,  K'>  i^'"l  ^^^  ^J'i'"^  -^li'-  ^'  liiii^^dou,  iittoriiey-at- 
];i\v,  iit  ouce,  that's  all  ;  I'll  go  witli  you  ;  it's  not  teu 
luiiiutea  walk  from  hero." 

*'  But  if  it  sliouhl  prove  to  be  a  humbug  ?  **  said  Captain 
Caiupljell,  as  he  salli^Ml  fortii  arm  in  ai'in  with  StalTord. 

"Then  tlirash  C.  Hingdon,  attorney-at-law,  witliin  an 
inch  of  his  life,''  said  his  pacific  friend;  "it's  tlie  only 
balm  for  a  wounded  mind  I  know  of." 

Captain  Cami)l>ell  laughed  ;  ami  the  conversation  turned 
on  various  matters  as  they  walked  on. 

In  a  short  lime  they  reached  tho  ollice  of  ('.  Kingdon — 
a  dingy-looking  old  house,  with  his  natne  over  the  door  in 
exceeditigly  dingy  lettei's. 

Mr.  Kingdon,  a  siiar[),  slirewd-looking  little  man,  sat 
alone  in  his  ollice  when  they  entered,  lie  pushed  up  his 
spectacles,  and  surveyed  them  keenly  as  they  came  in. 

''  You,  I  presume,  are  the  C.  liingdon  mentioned  in 
this  advertisement?"  said  Captain  Cam])b(dl,  handing 
liim  the  paper,  and  pointing  to  the  advertisement. 

"  I  am,  sir.  Can  you  give  nie  any  information  concern- 
ing the  parties  in  question  ?" 

''Faith!  he  ought  to,  being  tho  principal  party  in 
question  himself,"  interposed  Stafford. 

"  How,  sir  ?  are  you  a  relative  of  these  Campbells  of  the 
Isle  ?  "  asked  the  attorney. 

''  Yes ;  the  son  of  the  Mark  Campbell  mentioned 
there." 

"Ah!  Are  there  any  more  of  you?  Is  your  father 
living  ?" 

"No,  he  lias  been  dead  these  four  years  ;  and  there  are 
no  more  of  us,  as  you  are  pleased  to  term  it,  but  one 
sister.     May  I  ask  what  this  affair  is  all  aljout  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Campbell.  You  are  aware,  perhaps, 
you  liad  an  uncle  in  Xew  Y''ork,  Mr.  Richard  Eyre,  the 
banker  ?  " 

"I  knew  it;  wasn't  I  just  saying  the  old  gentleman 
was  at  the  bottom  of  it  ?"  said  Stafford,  giving  Ca[)tain 
Campbell  a  dig  in  the  ribs. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that  fact,  sir  ;  he  was  my  mother's  only 
brother." 


' 


80 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  IbLE. 


*^  Exactly.     Well,  he  is  doiul." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  young  man,  gravely. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  having  no  heirs  of  his  own,  he  has  left 
his  whole  fortune  to  be  divided  equally  between  his  sister's 
children.  The  sum  is  enormous  ;  and  1  beg  leave  to  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  good  fortune.  I  do  not  knov^  the 
exact  amount,  and  for  furtlier  particulars  it  will  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  visit  Xew  York,  where  the  lawyer  who  drew 
up  your  uncle's  will  resides.  Here  is  his  address.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  prove  your  identity,  settle  a  few  prelim- 
inaries and  take  immediate  possession  of  your  fortune. 
Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  I  am  very  busy,  and  witli  your 
permission  will  bid  you  good  morning."  And  the  little 
attorney  bowed  them  politely  out. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  streak  of  good  luck  !  "  exclaimed  Staf- 
ford. *'  Upon  my  word,  Campbell,  you  must  have  been 
born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  your  mouth.  I  suppose  you 
will  start  instantly  for  Xew  York  ?  " 

'*  Not  instantly,  my  dear  Stafford.  I  must  go  and  in- 
form Sybil  of  our  good  fortune.  Dear,  noble  girl  !  for  her 
sake  I  am  truly  thankful  for  this." 

"  Of  course,  you  ought  to  be  ;  not  many  men  are 
blessed  witli  sucli  a  sister  as  that  radiant,  glorious  Sybil. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  my  accompanying  you  ?  " 

"  Deliglited  to  have  you,  my  dear  fellow.  Suppose  we 
start  now  ;  we  will  be  at  Brantwell's  before  dark." 

'^  Just  as  you  please,  my  dear  sir.  I  suppose  it  will  be 
'  a  sight  for  sair  ecu '  to  see  Her  Majesty  the  Queen  of  the 
Isle,  again." 

A  carriage  was  soon  in  readiness,  and  our  two  friends 
started  to  impart  this  sudden  glim2:)se  of  fortune's  sunshine 
to  Sybil. 

It  was  dark  when  tliey  reached  the  parsonage — a  hand- 
some and  rather  imposing-looking  mansion — and  were 
ushered  into  the  drawing-room  by  a  neat-looking  little 
maid.  Sybil  and  j\lrs.  J^rantwell  were  seated  alone,  ^h\ 
Brantwell  having  gone  to  see  a  sick  parishoner. 

Sybil  joyfully  hailed  her  brotlier,  and  smilingly  greeted 
his  companion,  who  was  an  old  friend  and  secret  admirer. 
Poor  Will  Stalford  I  The  impressions  the  child  Sybil  had 
formerly  made  on  his  heart  time  had  hardly  obliterated; 
but  that  radiant  smile,  those  glorious  eyes  and  bewitching 
glances  totally  finished  him. 


Ill' 


ONE  OF  FORTUNE'S  SMILES. 


81 


11*. 

id 


ig 


1 


Good  Mrs.  Brantwell  welcomed  her  guests  with  her 
usual  hearty  manner  and  jolly  little  laugh.  lUit  when  she 
heard  of  the  i.nexpccted  good  fortune  of  Sybil  and  her 
brother,  her  rapturous  deliglit  knew  no  bounds. 

"Just  think  of  it  I "  she  exclaimed,  *' my  handsomo 
Sybil  an  heiress  !  Oh  !  won't  she  create  a  furor  now  ? 
Young,  rich  and  beautiful  !  Sybil  !  Sybil  !  what  an  en- 
viable fate  is  yours  !  " 

Sybil's  cheeks  Hushed,  and  her  eyes  brightened,  as  she 
thought  of  Wilhird.  For  his  sake  she  rejoiced  over  this 
new-found  fortune.  Often  and  bitterly  had  she  secretly 
regretted,  and  her  pride  revolted  at  the  idea  of  becoming 
the  bride  of  one  so  far  her  superior  in  wealth  and  fortune. 
But  now  she  was  his  equal  !  there  was  trium})h,  joy;  ex- 
ultation in  the  thought.  Ilis  aristocratic  frieiuls  could 
not  look  down  on  her  now — could  not  despise  lier  for  her 
poverty.  Look  down  on  her — a  Campbell  of  the  Isle  !  hi 
other  days,  who  would  have  dared  to  do  so  and  live  ?  lUit 
times  had  changed  since  those  days  ;  ;uid  people  looked 
more  now  to  dollars  and  dimes  than  to  blood  or  noble 
ancestry.  Now  she  had  both  ;  she  was  his  equal  in  wealth, 
as  she  was  infinitely  his  superior  in  every  noble  quality, 
a)id  the  triumpliant  thought  sent  the  blood  careering  to 
her  crimson  cheek,  her  red,  glowing  lips  ;  and  the  dark, 
southern  eyes  of  jet  lit  up  magnificently  with  pride,  lovo, 
and  exultation.  This  fortune  of  hers  she  would  cast  at 
his  feet,  with  her  passionate  devotion,  as  she  had  already 
cast  heart  and  life,  and  being  and  soul. 

*' What  are  you  thinking  of,  Sybil?"  said  Captain 
Campbell,  after  watching  her  a  few  moments,  with  a  smile. 
''  Your  cheeks  and  eyes  are  blazing,  your  face  illumined,  as 
it  were,  with  an  inward  light  of  joy  and  triumph.  Surely 
you  do  not  care  as  much  as  this  for  wealth  I" 

"Pooh!  I  know  what  it's  all  about,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Brantwell,  in  her  customary-  matter-of-fact  manner. 
'■  She's  thinking  tluit  good-looking  Mr.  Drummond  will 
nave  a  richer  bride  than  he  bargained  for.  Isn't  that  so, 
Sybil  ?  " 

Sybil  started  from  her  reverie,  and  blushed  deeply  at 
finding  her  thoughts  thus  interpreted.  Stafford  turned 
pale,  as  he  watched  her  glowing  face  ;  and  the  conviction 
came  home  to  him  for  the  first  time,  that  Sylnl  ('ampbell's 
rare  beauty  was  appreciated  by  other  eyes  than  his. 


-5^ 


[*i^ 

|! 

1  ::• 

:■  ■  i 
i 

i 

li  f 


I    r 


I, 


8S 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"  By  the  way,  when  was  Drummond  here  ? "  asked 
CapUiiu  Campbell. 

^'  Day  before  yesterday — wasn't  it,  Sybil  ?  He  doesn't 
visit  ns  vei'v  often — not  half  so  often  as  so  devoted  a  lover 
should.  Oh,  you  needn't  try  to  annihilate  me  with  those 
flashing-  eyos  of  yours,  my  lady.  I'm  not  a  young  gentle- 
man, thank  goo([ness  !  and  am  proof  against  even  those 
bright,  angry  glances.  To  bo  sure,  tlie  young  man  may 
liave  some  plausible  excuse  :  but  it  seems  to  me,  if  I  wa« 
in  his  place,  I'd  stick  to  you  like  a  chestnut  burr,  for  fear 
you  might  slip  through  my  lingers.  Poor,  dear  Mr. 
Brantwell  was  twice  as  attentive  in  his  courting  dajs, 
and  I  never  had  any  beauty  worth  mentioning,"  said  Mrs. 
Brantwell,  with  her  usual  jolly  laugh. 

^'  I  don't  know  about  that,  my  dear  lady,"  said  Guy, 
gayly.  "  If  I  was  a  marrying  man,  I'd  sooner  bend  my 
knees  to  you  than  half  the  young  girls  I  know.  Only  I've 
an  immense  respect  for  Mr.  Brantwell,  there  is  no  telling 
what  I  might  bo  tempted  to  do." 

"  Don't  be  too  confident,  Master  Ouy,"  said  the  good- 
humored  lady.  "1  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
such  a  graceless  young  villain  as  you,  for  any  considera- 
tion ;  though,  for  the  sake  of  sound  morality  and  good 
taste,  I  should  hope  you  wouldn't  fall  in  love  with  me. 
And  here  comes  Mr.  Brantwell  himself,  who  wouldn't 
approve  of  it,  by  any  means." 

At  this  moment  the  good  clergyman  entered,  and  warmly 
greeted  his  guests. 

In  a  few  words  his  wife  told  liim  of  this  astonishing 
good  fortune.  Mr.  Brantwell  always  took  matters  very 
coolly — a  circumstance  which  sometimes  provoked  his 
more  excitable  lady,  as  on  the  present  occasion — he  mei*ely 
elevated  his  eyebrows  slightly  in  token  of  surprise,  and 
SJiid  : 

'indeed!" 

''  Yes,  indeed  ! "  responded  his  wife,  irreverently  mim- 
icking his  tone,  ''  and  one  would  think  fortunes  were  in 
the  habit  of  pouring  into  people's  hands  as  they  walked, 
by  the  way  you  take  it." 

"  Well,  where  is  the  use  of  flying  off  at  a  tangent,  at 
everything,"  retorted  her  spouse,  '^  as  you  do  ?  I  suppose, 
captain,  you  will  start  for  Xew  York  immediately  ?" 

"  Yes,  to-morrow  morning." 


•■, 


THE  STORM— THE  WRECK. 


83 


**  And  as  Sybil  may  be  wanted,  you  had  belter  take  lier, 
too,"  said  Mr.   Brant  well. 

*'  Verv  true,  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  Can  vou  be 
ready,  SVbil  ?" 

Sybil  thoui^'lit  of  Drunnnond,  and  asked,  rather  hesita- 
tingly.     "  How  long  will  you  be  gone  ?  '' 

'*  About  a  week — or  two  or  three  at  tlie  farthest.'' 

"Now,  Sybil,"  broke  in  ^Irs.  l)rantwell,  wlio  seemed 
to  possess  tlie  faculty  of  reading  |)('op1e's  tlionglits,  '•  never 
mind  Mr.  Drummond.  Til  break  tlie  news  of  your  ab- 
sence to  him  in  the  gentlest  man!ier  possible.  Your  for- 
tune is  of  more  impoi'tance  just  now  than  his  lordsliif), 
who,  no  doubt,  will  foUov   you  when  he  hears  where  you 


are. 


}7 


There  was  no  use  getting  angry  with  the  good-humored 
old  lady,  so  Sybil  smiled,  and  promised  to  be  ready  betimea 
next  morning. 

And  early  the  following  day  the  brother  and  sister  set 
out  for  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XL 


!ry 

[lis 

,iid 


|m- 

in 

)d, 

at 
ise, 


THE    STORM — THE    WRECK. 

"  Tlia  strife  of  fiends    is  in  tlie  battliiif^  clouds, 
Tlie  glare  of  hell  is  in  these  sulphurous  lightuings  ; 
This  is  uo  earthly  storm." 

—Bertram. 

It  was  two  days  after  the  departure  of  Sybil  ere  Willard 
Drummond  visited  the  parsonage  again. 

And  then  he  heard  of  her  departure  with  real  surprise 
and  affected  concern  ;  but  he  did  not  follow  her  to  New 
York,  as  Mrs.  Brantwell  had  prophesied. 

His  passion  for  Christie  was  yet  too  new — the  novelty  Inid 
not  worn  oil — the  joy  of  knowing  she  was  his  wife,  his 
own  indisputable  property,  had  not  yet  abated,  as  it  would 
do  some  day,  as  it  must  do  ;  for  such  quick,  herce,  pas- 
sionate, seliish  love  could  not  last.  As  suddenly,  as  com- 
pletely as  it  had  come,  so  must  it  die  ;  for  he  was  not  one 
of  those  who,  in  loving  once,  love  for  a  lifetime.  Christie 
was,  and  so  was  Sybil  ;  but  in  each,  that  love,  despised  or 
neglected,  would  produce  different  results.  Christie  would 
have  folded  her  hands,  drooped,   faded  and   perhaps  died 


:?" 


84 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


t   ' 


5       * 

I   f 


of  a  broken  heiirt,  but  Sybil  would  rise  m.'ijestic  with  the 
strength  of  her  wrongs,  and  hurl  to  destruction  all  those 
who  had  acted  a  part  in  lier  downfall.  Something  of  all 
this  would  at  times  Hit  through  W'illard  Diunnmond's 
mind  ;  and  once  came  the  ungenerous  tiiought  that  per- 
haps, after  all,  it  would  have  been  better  had  he  never 
seen  Campbell's  Isle.  But  one  srnilo  from  Christie,  one 
fond  caress  from  her  gentle  arms,  and  all  this  was  forgotten, 
and  all  tlie  M'orld  was  a;jain  bounded  for  him  bv  its  wave- 
washed  shore. 

So  the  days  of  Sybil's  absence  were  wearing  away,  and 
Willard  still  lingered  a  willing  captive.  Even  Mrs.  TomV: 
eyes  were  beginning  to  be  opened  co  tlie  fact  that  there 
must  be  something  more  than  met  the  eye  in  those  long, 
solitary  rambles — those  moonlight  walks  and  sails  the 
young  cou})le  Avere  so  fond  of.  Aunt  Moll  had  long  been 
throwing  out  suiidry  mysterious  hints  which  Mrs.  Tom — 
who  disliked  gossiping — [)aid  no  attention  to  ;  but  now 
she  began  to  think  that,  after  all,  it  might  be  more  pru- 
dent to  keep  this  gay  young  man  of  pleasure  a  little 
oftener  from  Christie.  So,  one  day,  she  surprised  Christie 
by  a  sound  scolding  on  her  '^  goin'  vander-prowlin'  through 
the  woods  at  all  hours,  when  she  ought  to  be  at  home  doing 
her  work,"  and  i)ositively  forbidding  her  going  out  again 
for  a  week.  Cliristie  listened  in  dutiful  silence  but  prom- 
ised nothing  ;  and  in  spite  of  all  j\[rs.  Tom's  watching,  met 
AVillard  as  often  as  ever.  For  that  young  gentleman  would 
visit  the  cotta2:e  each  dav  ;  and  the  little  widow  was  alto- 
getlier  too  hospitable  to  hint  tliat  he  came  oftener  than  was 
exactly  desirable.  And  so  there  was  nothing  to  do,  but 
to  hope  that  Miss  Sybil  would  soon  return  to  the  isle,  and 
look  after  her  lover  herself,  for  Mrs.  Tom  was  growing 
tired  of  it.  Besides,  she  really  liked  the  youth  exceedingly, 
aiul  would  have  thought  him  a  paragon  of  perfection  if  he 
only  would  be  less  attentive  to  Christie. 

And  Christie,  the  shy  little  child-wife,  had  gone  on 
dreaminix  '"love's  vouna:  dream,"  and  never  thinkins:  how 
terrible  one  day  would  be  her  awakening. 

Since  their  bridal  niglit  the  mysterious  phantom  had 
never  been  seen  ;  and  botli  were  beginning  to  hope  it  had 
been  only  an  illusion  of  a  heated  imagination.  Mr. 
Drummond  liad  accounted  for  the  terrifvino;  shriek  and 

si  O 

Christie's  fainting  fit  in  some  ingenious  way  of  his  own 


,•<•* 


THE  STORM— THE  WRECK, 


85 


ho 


liad 
had 

>W11 


that  quite  satisfied  tlie  old  lady  and  lulled  to  sleep  any 
suspicions  she  might  have  conceived. 

One  evening,  as  Willard  set  out  to  keep  an  appointment 
■with  Christie,  lie  observed  Lem  stainling,  or,  rather  sit- 
ting perciied  on  a  linil)  of  a  giant  pine  tree,  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hands,  and  looking  anxiously  out  to  sea. 

''  Well,  my  boy,  what  has  caught  your  attention  in  that 
direction  ? — wild  geese  ?" 

"'Xo,  nnissa,"  said  Lem,  solemnly.      "  I  see  a  sail." 

"  Well,  a.xd  what  of  that  ?''  said  Mr.  ])rummond.  '^  A 
sail  is  not  such  an  unusual  sight  here,  is  it  ?  " 

''  But  dare's  a  storm  brewin',  an'  if  de  Lord  ain't  took 
special  charge  oh  dat  vessel  de  fust  Ian'  it  nuikes  will  be 
Davy  Jones'  locker,"  said  Lem. 

''  A  storm,  you  blockhead  I "  exclaimed  Drummond. 
"  There  is  not  a  cloud  in  the  skv." 

'^Jes'look  ober  dar,  nuissa,  and  see  dat  black  cloud, 
'bout  de  size  o'  your  hand." 

'^  Well!"  said  Willard. 

"  Pretty  soou  dat  will  be  all  ober  de  sky,  and  den  we'll 
Inib  a  faring  squall.  De  trees  tell  de  wind's  risin'  already  ; 
and  you  needn't  be  s'prised  ef  to-morrow  morn  in'  you  sees 
de  ruins  o'  dat  vessel  si)read  all  ober  de  shore  !  " 

And  Lem,  with  a  doleful  shake  of  his  head,  descended 
from  his  perch,  and  sought  the  house. 

Ere  the  hour  had  passed,  Lem's  prognostications  proved 
true.  The  heavens  rapidly  darkened,  as  dense,  black, 
threatening  clouds  rolled  over  them  ;  the  sea  became  of 
an  inky  hue,  crested  with  white,  ghastly  looking  foam,  as 
it  heaved  and  groaned,  like  a  "strong  heart  in  strong 
agony."  The  wind  rose,  and  crashed,  with  terrific  force, 
through  the  woods,  bending  strong  trees,  like  reeds,  be- 
fore its  might. 

*'  Lor'  sakes,  how  it  blows  I  "  said  Mrs.  Tom,  as  she 
blustered  in  and  out.  ''I  'clare  to  nnm,  it  'most  took  me 
right  off  my  feet.  I  ain't  heerd  sich  a,  wind  these  five 
year  come  Christmas,  and  them  two  shi})S  were  wrecked 
right  out  from  the  shore,  and  every  soul  perished.  Dear, 
dear,  with  a  sight  it  was  next  day,  when  all  the  drownded 
corpses  was  washed  ashore  I  It  was  the  most  awfullest 
sight  I  ever  seed.  Carl,  don't  sit  layin'  there  in  the  corner 
all  night,  toastin'  your  shins  like  a  singed  cat.  Get  up 
and  pick  the  pin-feathers  out  of  that  fowl." 


■'  1    >' 


I  ^ 


i    (11 


I    I 


86 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"  I  lieard  Lcm  saying  tliere  was  a  ohip  in  view  about  an 
hour  ago,'*  said  Driinimond,  rising. 

"Lord  a'  massy  upon  tliem,  tlien,"  said  Mrs.  Tom; 
*'  for,  if  they  touch  the  sliore,  they'll  every  one  go  to  the 
bottom  ! " 

'^Oh,  dreadful  !"  said  Christie,  turning  pale  witli  pity 
and  horror. 

'*  It's  goin'  to  be  an  awful  night  I  Just  listen  to  the  wind 
roarin'  through  tlie  trees,  and  tluit  rain  I  1  never  heard 
the  waves  boomin'  on  tlie  beacli  as  tliey're  doin'  now.  that 
a  wreck  didn't  foller.  It's  a  blessin'  Captain  (iuy  and  .Miss 
Sybil  ain't  on  the  sea  tiiis  dreadful  night.  AVhen  they 
wore  anay,  F  used  to  think  of  tliem  in  every  storm.  Lord 
preserve  us  I  look  at  that !  "  And,  with  a  piercing  shriek, 
tlie  startled  Mrs.  Tom  sprang  back. 

A  fierce  gust  of  wind,  tlireateni?ig  to  l)ring  down  the 
roof  about  their  iieads  ;  a  tempestuous  dash  of  rain,  as  if 
tlie  fioodgates  of  heaven  had  opened  for  a  second  deluge; 
a  blaze  oi'  blue,  livid  lightning,  as  though  the  whole  firma- 
ment was  one  sheet  of  ilame ;  a  crash  of  thunder  as 
though  heaven  and  earth  were  rending  asunder. 

With  a  wild  cry  of  terror,  Christie  sprang  up.  pale, 
trembling,  horror-struck.  Carl  crouched  into  a  ball  in  a 
remote  corner.     ISIeither  dared  to  speak  or  move. 

Mrs.  Tom,  forgetting  her  first  involuntary  alarm,  sprang 
to  close  the  shutters,  and  make  fast  the  doors.  And 
Willaril,  amai'ied  at  the  suddenness  with  which  the  storm 
liad  arisen,  buttoned  up  his  coat,  prejiaratory  to  starting 
for  the  Lodge  ere  it  should  further  increase  in  violence. 

"Oh,  do  not  go — do  not  leave  us!"  cried  Christie, 
springing  forward,  and  pale,  wild,  teri'or-stricken,  cling- 
ing to  him,  scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  did. 

"  Dearest  love,  do  not  tremble  so  ;  there  is  no  dnnger," 
he  whispered,  encouragingl}  encircling  her  slight  waist 
with  his  arm. 

Mrs.  Tom,  turning  suddenly  round  and  beholding  them 
in  this  position,  in  spite  of  her  panic  was  scandalized  and 
indignant. 

"'  Lor'  a'  massy  'pon  us  !  child,  sit  down — no,  kneel 
down,  and  say  your  })rayers.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself  to  do  sich  a  thing.  ?dr.  Drummond.  I'd  be 
'bliged  to  you  not  to  keep  your  arm  'round  her  tliat  way ; 
it  doesn't  look  right,  nor,  likewise,  respectable." 


ii    J,  ■  ,. 


THE  STORM— THE  WRECK. 


87 


j> 


m 
id 


But  here  Mrs.  Tom's  words  were  abruptly  cut  short ; 
for  ticross  tlie  stormy,  ragiu^i,'  sen,  liigli  above  the  roar  and 
slirieking  of  the  storm,  poaletl  the  minute  gun  of  a  ship 
in  distress,  like  an  agonized  cry  for  lielp. 

*'  God  be  merciful  !  Listen  to  that  I ''  exchiimed  Mrs. 
Tom,  turning  pale. 

Anotiier  tierce,  tempestuous  burst  of  wind  and  rain  ; 
anotlier  blinding  ghire  of  sul])hin'ous  lightning  ;  another 
appalling  peal  of  deafening  thiimU'r  reiil  the  air.  And 
then  again  boomed  the  minute  gun  over  the  s(\*i. 

'*  Something  must  bo  done  ;  something  shall  be  done  !" 
cried  Willanl,  excited  beyond  emhiraiiee  at  tlit^  thought  of 
so  numy  perishing  almost  within  a  dozen  rods  of  where  lie 
stood.  "  Carl,  my  boy,  come  with  me  and,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  Lem,  we  mav  be  able  to  save  some  of  those 
perishing  wretches." 

**lt's  too  wet !  "  said  a  terrified  voice  from  the  corner, 
>.is  its  owner  crouched  into  a  still  sinaller  l)all. 

But  ."Mrs.  Tom — who  never  forgot  the  practical,  no 
matter  what  her  alarm  might  be — went  over  and,  taking 
the  unfortunate  youth  by  both  ears,  lifted  him,  with  a 
jerk,  to  his  feet. 

With  a  howl  of  paiii,  Carl  extricat(Ml  himself  from  her 
hands,  and  clapped  both  his  own  i)alnis  over  the  injured 
members. 

'^  Now,  go  this  mijiute,  and  get  your  hat  ami  overcoat, 
and  go  out  with  jMr.  Drummond,  and  do  wdiatever  you 
can.  And  if  he  goes  layin'  round,  Mr.  Drummond.  just 
give  him  a  blow  'longsideo'  the  head,  and  nuike  him  know 
he's  got  to  mind  you.     Come,  be  quick  I  " 

Carl,  whose  di'ead  of  the  storm  was  far  inferior  to  his 
dread  of  Mi's.  Tom,  donned  his  coat  and  hat  with  amazing 
alacrity — having  tied  the  latter  under  his  chin,  with  a  red 
handkerchief,  to  keep  it  on — stood  ready  to  depart",  wip- 
ing the  tears  from  his  eyes,  first  with  the  cufT  of  one 
sleeve,  and  then  v/ith  the  oilier. 

Wilbird  cast  one  look  at  Christie,  who  liad  sunk  on  the 
floor,  her  face  hidden  in  her  lap;  and  then  turned  to  de- 
part, followed  by  the  unwilling  Carl.  The  blinding  gust 
of  wind  and  rain  that  met  them  in  the  face  nearly  drove 
them  back  ;  but,  bending  to  the  storm,  they  resolutely 
plunged  on  ;  :ind  it  required  all  the  strength  of  Mrs.  Tom 
to  close  the  door  after  them. 


I 

1 

'I 
>  ' 


I 


I     15 


i    "mI 


I 


:'l 


88 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


The  storm  seemed  increasing  in  fury.  The  wind 
howled,  raged  and  shrieked  ;  the  waves  thundered  with 
terrific  force  over  the  rocks  ;  the  thunder  roared,  peal 
upon  peal,  shaking  the  very  island  to  its  center  ;  the 
ligiitning  alone  lit  up  for  an  instant,  with  its  blue,  vivid 
glare,  the  pitchy  darkness  ;  and  then  the  crash  of  the 
strong  trees  in  the  neighboring  forest,  as  they  were  vio- 
lentl*,  torn  up  by  the  roots,  all  mingled  together  in  awful 
discord. 

]iut,  above  all,  the  minute  gun  came  wailing  once  more 
over  the  sea. 

The  two  plunging  so  blindly  through  the  storm,  hastened 
on  as  if  winged  at  that  saddest  of  sounds.  And,  after 
tumbling,  slipping,  falling,  rising  and  hurrying  on  again, 
they  reached  the  ohl  Lodge  at  last. 

A  light  was  burning  in  the  kitclion.  ])Oth  rushed  in 
there — wet,  dripping  and  half  blinded  by  the  storm. 
Aunt  Moll  was  on  her  knees  in  tlu^  middle  of  the  iloor, 
rocking  backward  and  forward,  and  ])raying  aloud  in  an 
agony  of  terror  and  apprehension  ;  and  J^eni  was  walking 
up  and  down,  groaning  and  praying  at  intervals  with  his 
mother. 

'•  Oh,  good  Lord  !  I's  bin  a  drefful  sinner,  I  is  ;  but  if 
you'll  only  spare  me  jcs'  a  little  while  longer,  I  'tends  to 
do  better.  Oh,  do  spare  me  !  I  ain't  ready  to  go.  Meed 
and  Meed  I  ain't.  Please  do,  good  Lor',  an'  I'll  nebber  do 
nothin'  sinful  again.  Oh  !  what  a  streak  o'  lightnin'  dat 
ar  was  !  Oh,  Lemuel  I  kneel  down,  or  ye  old  mammy'U 
be  took  away  in  a  Hash  o'  lightnin'  like  T.ijah  was." 

And  in  an  agony  of  fear  Lem  tramped  up  and  down  the 
long  kitchen,  quaking  at  every  fresh  clap  'jf  thunder. 

"Come,  cease  that  caterwauling  !"  said  Drummond, 
as  he  burst  in  upon  them,  dripi)ing  like  a  sea  god  ;  '*  and 
you,  Lem,  get  your  coat,  and  come  with  us  down  to  the 
beach,  and  see  if  Ave  cannot  save  some  poor  unfortunates 
from  death  and  destruction." 

'''Deed,  Master  Drummin',  honey,  I  dassent.  I's 
'feared  to  go  out,"  said  Lem,  his  teeth  chattering  like  a 
pnir  of  castanets. 

''You  black  villain  !  if  you  are  not  ready  in  ten  minutes, 
I'll  thrash  you  till  you  are  not  able  to  stir  I "  exclaimed 
Willard,  catching  and  shaking  him  furiously. 

Too  terrified  by  the  young  man's  fierce  tone  to  resist. 


THE  STORM— THE  WRECK. 


89 


s 
a 

[s, 

it. 


Lem  drew  on  his  hat  and  coat  ;  and,  shaking  like  one  in 
an  ague-fit,  followed  them  out  into  the  night  and  dark- 
ness and  storm. 

Once  more  over  the  tempest-tossed  waves  rolled  tho 
mournful  voice  of  the  minute  gun  like  a  dying  cry. 

"My  God!  this  is  maddening!"  exclaimed  Willard. 
rushing  to  the  beach  like  one  demented  ;  "  to  think  they 
should  perish  thus,  within  reach  of  us  almost,  while  we 
are  here  in  safety.  Carl,  where  is  your  botit  ?  1  will 
venture  out  and  see  if  I  cannot  save  some  one,  at  least." 

*'0h,  Marse  Drummin  !  for  de  dear  Lord's  sake  don't 
risk  it  !"  cried  Lem,  in  an  agony  of  terror.  "  Xo  boat 
could  live  two  minutes  in  dem  waves." 

"You  couldn't  launch  the  boat  in  these  breakers,"  said 
Carl,  "  much  less  pull  if  you  were  in  her." 

"  And  they  must  perish  before  our  very  eyes  !  Heaven 
of  heavens  !  this  is  awful  !  " 

Again  he  listened  for  the  gun,  but  it  came  no  more.  Its 
voice  was  silenced  in  storm  and  death. 

"  They  have  gone  down  I  "  said  Carl  ;  "  the  sigiuil  gun 
will  fire  no  more." 

"  God  have  mercy  on  their  souls  !  "  said  AVillard, 
solemnly,  lifting  his  hat. 

"  Amen  ! "  said  Lem,  whose  fear  seemed  swallowed  up 
in  awe. 

"  We  may  soon  look  out  for  the  bodies,"  said  Carl, 
straining  his  eyes  over  the  black,  seething  waves. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  by  the  blinding  light  of  a  glare  of 
lightning  they  beheld  two  bodies,  lashed  to  a  spar,  tiirown 
violently  on  the  sands  near  them.  All  sprang  forward  and 
drew  them  up  beyond  the  reach  of  the  waves. 

"Unfasten  this  rope,"  said  Carl,  "and  we  will  bring 
them  ujj  to  the  house.  Perhaps  they  may  not  be  drowned 
yet." 

"  One's  a  woman,"  said  Lem,  as  he  cut  the  lashing. 
"  I  can  carry  her,  I  reckon,  while  you  two  tote  the  man 
'long," 

"Go  on,  then,"  said  Willard  ;  "  up  to  Mrs.  Tom's. 
Be  quick  !  " 

Bearing  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  their  wot  and  ap- 
parently lifeless  burdens  in  their  arms,  they  reached  the 
cottage  of  the  widow,  anrl  deposited  the  senseless  forms 
before  the  fire.     Then,  leaving  them  to  her  charge   and 


J 


90 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


il: 


"'    « 


that  of  Cliristio,  they  (Icsccndod  once  more  to  the  hoarh, 
to  rescue  jiny  other  unfortuu.'ite  who  migh'  jirovidentially 
be  w;i.sh(!d  usliorc. 

Towiird  midnight  the  storm  ;ib:it('d,  iiiid  the  king  of  tlio 
tempests  sullenly  began  to  call  off  liis  liosts.  TJie  dense, 
bbick  clouds  slowly  rolled  back,  the  lightning  ceased  to 
flash,  and  tiie  thunder  only  growled  in  the  distance.  Tho 
wind  aljated  and  the  rain  fell  more  slowly  I  but  though 
they  waited  until  morning  dawned,  no  more  bodies  v/ero 
w.'ifted  to  their  feet. 

The  next  day's  light  showed  a  scene  of  ruin  .and  death. 
The  beach  was  strewn  in  every  direction  with  fragnuMitg 
of  the  broken  ship,  and  some  half-dozen  dead  bodies  lay 
scattered  on  the  saiuls.  All  were  cold  and  dead  I  and,  sad 
and  disap[)ointed,  our  tired  and  drenched  watchers  turned 
away. 

Before  going  to  the  Lodge  Willard  visited  the  cottago 
and  learned  that  the  rescued  on(>s  were  both  alive  and 
might  recovei'.  And,  grateful  to  have  been  tlie  means  of 
saving  even  two  of  the  unfortumites,  he  sought  his  own 
couch,  to  dream  of  wrecks  and  drowned  men  till  noon- 
day. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

sybil's    RETURN"    TO    THE   ISLE. 


r-' 


:       ii 


"  Tlien*  is  a  slmdow  in  her  eye, 
A  lauguor  in  lier  fniiiie  ! 
Yet  rouse  her  spirits,  and  she'll  glow 
With  Passion's  fiercest  llame." 

— T.  W.   H. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  when 
Willard  Drummond  left  the  Lodge  for  Mrs.  Tom's  cottage. 
Curiosity  to  see  the  rescued  ones  prompted  tho  visit  as 
mucli  as  any  feeling,  and  he  walked  along  rapidly,  view- 
ing the  scene  of  desolation  which  the  preceding  night'a 
tempest  had  left. 

The  cottage  door  was  open  to  admit  the  pleasant  sun- 
shine, and  Willard  paused  for  a  moment  to  view  the  scene 
before  he  entered. 

Mrs.  Tom  went  bustling  about  the  room  in  her  usual 
breezy,  chirruping  way,  talking  incessantly,  but  in   sub- 


it-  I. 


SYBIL'S  RETUUX  TO  THE  ISLE. 


91 


13 
V- 

'3 

1- 

le 


dncd  ton«^,  as  tlKHii^'li  alVaid  of  disturbiii';"  some  one. 
C'iiristie  sat  near  llu;  window,  bonding  ovlt  her  suwino-, 
looldng  pale  still,  ai'UT  the  tc^rror  and  exeitoment  of  llio 
previous  ni^^'lit.  J>ut  Willanl's  eyes  did  not  lini^er  a  nio- 
luent  on  her  ;  thev  wei-e  lixed,  as  if  i'aseinated,  on  iin- 
other,  who  lay  back  in  Mrs.  Tom's  iirmcliair,  i)roi)pe(l  up 
with  the  pillows. 

It  Wius  the  woman,  or  rather  the  f;irl,  he  had  saved. 
"What  was  there  in  that  }>ale  younu;  face  to  make  him  start 
go  vehemently,  while  the  blood  riisheil  in  a  crimson  torrent 
to  his  very  temples  ?  He  only  saw  a  sniMll,  slii:lit  fi^aiire; 
short,  cri-sp,  golden  curls  clustcrinii*  over  a  I'ound,  white, 
polished  foi-ehcad  ;  bri.Lcht,  sancy,  ^n'ay  eyes,  lialf  veiled 
now  under  the  h)n^,  silken  eyelashes  I'cstinn-  on  the  peiirly 
clieek  ;  a  little  I'osebud  mouth,  and  a  nose  deeidi'dly  re- 
trousse. It  was  not  a  wonderfully  pretty  face  :  but  there 
"was  something  bi'ight,  pitjuant,  oriuiiial  and  cliiirmijig 
ubont  it — sonujthing  (hiring,  didiant  ami  high-spirited,  as 
you  could  see  even  in  its  j)allor  and  hmguor.  She  might 
have  been  sixteen,  though  she  scarcely  h)oked  so  old  as 
that. 

She  lay  back  now,  with  her  little  while  hands  folded 
listlessly  on  her  lap — her  veiled  eyes  lixed  u])on  them  with 
a  dreamy,  abstracted  look,  as  of  one  whose  thoughts  are 
fiir  awav — rei)lvino*  low  and  hinjjfuidlv  to  Mi's.  'i'oni's 
ceaseless  questioning.  And  Willard  Drummond,  paleimd 
excited,  leaned  against  the  door-]>ost,  gazing  upon  her 
like  ono  who  cannot  believe  his  senses. 

Suddenly  Christie  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work,  and 
uttered  an  ejaculation  as  she  es})ied  him.  lie  could  linger 
no  longer;  and,  like  one  who  walks  in  his  sleej)  he  passed 
in. 

The  clear,  dark  eyes  of  the  little  lady  in  the  chair  were 
raised  as  he  entered,  and  iixed,  with  a  look  of  complete 
amazement  on  his  face.  Her  dark  eyes  dilated — her  li[)S 
parted  in  surprise  as  she  made  an  ell'ort  to  rise  from  her 
chair  and  then  sank  back  exhausted. 

"  Willard  Drummond  I"  broke  in  surprise  from  her 
lips. 

^'  Laura  I''  he  exclaimed. 

And  he  was  by  her  side;  in  an  instant,  holding  her  hand 
in  his  and  gazing  in  her  eyes  with  a  look  that  would  have 
aroused  Sybil's  jealousy  had  she  been  present,  but  which 


^„^.  \^J 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


& 


Wo 


(/ 


,% 


,v 


.**  4'  >  >" 


y. 


%" 


1.0 


!.l 


■^Ui    12.5 

|50     ■^~        M^H 

t   1^    12.0 


2.2 


IL25  i  1.4 


i^ 


1.6 


'W 


/ 


^IfJ^ 


%  > 


// 


'/ 


M 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


i 


mmmm 


.  i 

'a 


:i 


I 


it'". 


■  !l; 


i      - 


92 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


only  puzzled  Christie,  who,  with  Mrs.  Tom,  looked  on  in 
astonislimont. 

"  Wlio  ill  the  world  would  have  expected  to  meet  you 
here  ?  "  said  the  lady,  recovering  first  from  a  moment's 
embarrassed  sileiu^e  :  '*  certainly  tlie  last  spot  on  eartli  I 
should  ever  look  for  tlie  gay,  plejisure-loving  Willard 
Drummond.  So,  sir,  I  presume  you  have  been  '  taking  the 
world  e;isy  '  here  in  this  enchanted  isle,  wliile  your  poor, 
deluded  friends  were  laboring  under  the  conviction  you 
were  improving  your  mind — wliich  needed  improving, 
goodness  knows — by  foreign  travel  ?  Pretty  conduct, 
Mr.  Drummond,  I  must  say  !  " 

"  Oh,  Laura  !  Laura  !  how  little  did  I  dream  last  nighfc 
you  were  in  that  fatal  ship  ! "  he  exclaimed,  passion- 
ately. 

*' Ugh  !  yes;  wasn't  it  awful?"  said  the  young  girl 
with  a  sliudder.  *'  I'll  never  get  the  horrid  sights  and 
sounds  of  tiiat  dreadful  night  out  of  my  mind  while  I 
live.  Oil  I  to  have  heard  the  screams  and  cries  and 
prayers  and  blasphemies  of  the  drowning  crew  mingling 
with  the  fearful  storm  was  appalling.  Holy  saints  !  I 
hear  them  yet  !  " 

Witli  a  convulsive  shudder  she  liid  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

''  Thank  heaven,  your  life  was  saved  at  least  !"  said 
Drummond,  with  fervor. 

'*  Yes  ;  our  escape  was  little  less  than  miraculous.  I 
remember  some  one  making  me  fast  to  a  floating  spar  as 
the  ship  struck  ;  then  the  waves  swept  furiously  over  me 
and  I  remember  no  more  until  I  awoke  and  found  kind 
friends  dialing  my  hands  and  temjiles.  Was  it  you  v/ho 
saved  me,  Willard  ?  " 

*'  Not  exactly.  The  waves  washed  you  ashore,  and  my 
part  of  it  was  merely  to  have  you  conveyed  up  here.  But 
liow  little  did  I  dream  then  that  Laura  Britton  was  so 


near. 


J? 


**  Laura  Courtney,  if  yc:  please  Mr.  Drummond,"  she 
said  quietly,  "  I  have  had  the  honor  of  changing  my  name 
since  1  saw  you  last." 

*'  And  you  have  married  Edgar  Courtney  !  Oh,  L:iura  ! 
Jjaura  !"  he  said,  reproachfully. 

"  Ilor  eyes  flashed  as  she  faced  suddenly  round  and  said, 
onarpiy  ; 


.  ^' 


SYBIL'S  RETURX  TO  THE  ISLE. 


93 


**  Yes  ;  I  have  murried  him  ;  and,  Mr.  Drummond, 
don't  you  dare  to  speak  of  him  in  that  tone  again.  1  will 
not  endure  it.  No  ;  not  if  you  had  saved  my  life  a  duzeu 
times  !  " 

The  angry  blood  fluslied  to  her  pale  cheek,  and  she 
jerked  her  hand  angrily  away  from  his  grasp. 

Wilhird  bit  his  lip  till  it  hied,  to  keep  down  his  rising 
anger,  while  Christie  and  Mrs.  Tom  still  sat  staring  in  in- 
creasing amazement. 

There  was  a  long  disagreeable  pause,  broken  at  lart  by 
Mrs.  Courtney's  saying,  in  her  usual  quick,  abrupt  way  ; 

"There!  you  need  not  get  mad,  now,  Wilhird.  Have 
you  forgotten  that  no  one  used  ever  to  get  angry  at  any- 
thing said  by  'Madcap  Laura  ?^  Come,  don't  speak  so 
of  Mr.  Courtney  again,  and  I'll  forgive  you  ;  there's 
my  hjind  on  it.     I  cannot  forget  that  we  are  old  friends." 

A  sliadow  crossed  Wilhird's  face  as  he  bent  over  the 
little  hand  she  extended. 

"lias  your — has  Mr.  Courtney  been  saved  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  a  subdued  tone. 

"  Yes ;  the  waves  washed  us  both  ashore  together  ; 
but  something  struck  him  on  the  head,  and  he  is  unable 
to  rise.  I  suppose  you  are  puzzling  your  brains  now  to 
know  what  brought  us  to  this  quarter  of  the  globe  ?  " 

"  I  confesL'^  I  have  some  curiosity  on  that  point." 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  little  ^Irs.  Courtney,  adjusting 
herself  more  comfortably  in  her  chair  ;  "  we  went  on  a 
bridal  tour  to  New  York,  and  on  our  way  home  Edgar 
thought  he  would  call  at  Westport,  where  he  had  busi- 
ness of  some  kind.  All  the  way  we  liad  fine  weather  until 
the  journey  was  near  its  end  ;  and  then  the  storm  arose 
in  which  we  so  nearly  perished.  But,  Wilhird,  what  under 
the  sun  can  have  driven  you  here  ?  " 

Wilhird  colored  as  he  met  her  keen  glance. 

"  Well,  I  came  with  a  friend  of  mine,  a  certain  Captain 
Campbell,  who  owns  a  residence  here,  ami  I  am  for  the 
present  his  guest,  though  unexpected  l)usiness  for  a  time 
called  him  away.  Anything  for  a  change,  you  know," 
he  added  laughing,  "and  this  island  is  not  quite  devoid 
of  attraction." 

"By  no  means,"  said  Mrs.  Courtney,  glancing  demurely 
at  Christie.  "  I  certainly  admire  your  good  taste  in  say- 
ing so.     Once  here,  with  such  a  divinity  as  this,  I  can 


„.-- 

':'i 


wm 


94 


'I 


m 


H 


is' 


I  i'' 


i 


■ 

i  ■ 


■I  r 


3i' 

IS' 


I    t 


!  I 


THE  QUEEX   OF  THE  ISLE. 


ejisily   uccount   for  the  attracLioii   tliut   binds  yon,   most 
ii{;<:lo  of  men,  licre,"  shu  luldt'd,  in  a  lower  tone. 

*•  Pshaw  !  Laura,"  he  said,  striving  to  iiide  by  a  Inn^^h 
tlie  giiilLy  bhish  that  lingered  still  on  his  faee,  ''von 
surely  do  not  tiiiiik  I  have  forgotten  vou  so  soon  ?^' 

"  if  it  were  any  one  else  1  would  not,  but  yon — oh  ! 
you  never  woubl  be  true  to  any  onci  banger  tlian  a  niontli. 
Talk  about  woman's  (lekleness  I  I'm  sure  the  wind  never 
was  half  so  changeabl(>  as  you.'' 

"  Yes  ;  yon  gave  me  great  enconragenicnt  to  be  true  to 
yon,"  he  ansvrcred  with  sonie  bitterness. 

"  Did  I  ?"  said  Mrs.  Co'n-tney.  with  a  yawn.  "Well, 
I  know  r  was  a  horrid  little  simpleton  once,  but  I've 
grown  old  and  wise  now.  And  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you, 
Mr.  Drummond,  I'll  leave  yon  now.  I  feel  tired  and  luilf 
sick  yet,  after  hist  night." 

She  arose  and  went  into  the  room  with  a  wcarv,  tired 
air. 

"  So  yon  know  her  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tom.  ''  Who'd  ever 
thought  it  I  So  that  tall,  dark-looking  fellow  with  all 
the  whiskers  and  mustaches  is  her  husband  !  I  'clare  to 
mim  if  it  ain't  scandalous  the  way  gals  will  get  married 
afore  they're  out  o'  short  frocks  and  pantalets  !  I  just 
■wish  I  hnd  a  darter — no  I  mean  if  I  had  i\  1.  "ter — I'd  like 
to  see  her  tryin' to  get  nuirried  at  snch  an  m.-liristian  age." 

Christie  turned  scarlet  and  bent  lower  over  her  work. 

Willard  stood  leaning  with  one  arm  on  the  mantel;:>iece, 
gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 

"■What  did  you  say  her  name  was?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Tom,  sitting  down,  and  beginning  to  reel  off  yarn. 

]\rrs.   Edgar  Courtney,  now  ;  slie  was  Laura  Britton 


<( 


when  I  last  met  her,"  he  said,  as  if  half  speaking  to  hi 


m- 


se 


If. 


S'pose   you've  known  her  a  long  time  ?  "   continued 
Mrs.  Tom. 

"  Yes  ;  we  were  children  together,"  he  replied,  in  the 
same  dreamy  tone. 


a 


And  her  husband— known  him  long  ?"  pursued  Mrs. 
Tom. 

"  Yes  ;  I  know  him  for  a  cruel,  jealous,  passionate 
tyrant!"  said  Willard,  starting  up  so  suddenly  and 
fiercely  that  Mrs.  Tom  dropped  the  ball  she  was  winding 
and  sprang  back. 


SYBIL'S  RETURN  TO  THE  ISLE. 


95 


J) 


[on 

im- 


the 


irs. 


ate 
md 


*'Well,  you  needn't  make  such  a  fuss  about  it  I  "  vslio 
ey.cliiinied,  vecos'eriug  lierself,  and  iniliguantly  resuming 
lier  work.  *'  Scaring  a  body  out  o'  tlieir  wils  for  notliin'  ! 
I  'spose  slie  knowed  all  that  afore  she  took  him." 

*'Pray  pardon  my  vehemence,  Mrs.  'i'om/'suid  Willard, 
recovering  himself  by  an  elfort,  as  he  saw  Christie's  trou- 
bled gaze  fixed  on  his  face  ;  "'  I  forgot  myself  for  a  mo- 
ment. But  tins  patient  of  yours,  this  Mr.  CourtJiey,  may 
need  a  doctor.  1  am  going  over  to  Westport  to-niglit,  and 
if  you  wish  I  will  l)ring  one  to-morrow." 

''It  would  be  better,"  said  .Mrs.  Tom,  thoughtfully. 
*' He's  got  a  tremenjous  cut  right  in  his  head.  I  did 
what  I  could  for  him  ;  but,  of  cour.-"  a  body  would  feel 
more  satisfied  if  they  had  a  reg'lar  doctor." 

*' If  1  were  ill,  Mrs.  Tom,  I  would  trust  to  you  in 
preference  to  any  doctor  ever  warranted  to  kill  or  cure," 
said  Willard,  us  he  took  his  hat  to  go. 

''Mrs.  Tom  smiled  benignly  at  the  compliment — quite 
delighted  at  this  acknowledgment  of  her  skill. 

And  an  hour  after  Willard  and  Lem  were  on  tlieir  way 
to  Westport. 

What  were  Willard  Drummond's  thoughts  as,  sitting 
silently  in  the  stem  of  the  boat,  lie  watched  the  dancing 
waves  flash  and  sparkle  in  the  sunlight?  Very  dilTtirent 
from  those  lie  had  indulged  in  not  long  siiu^e,  when,  on 
one  eventful  night,  he  and  Christie  liad  crossed  it  to- 
gether. This  Laura  Courtney,  with  her  piquant  face  and 
pert,  saucy  manners,  had  first  won  his  boyish  hojirt.  lie 
had  raved  and  vowed  and  implored  at  hur  feet,  but  she 
only  laughed  at  him  and  his  passion,  and  now  she  had  no 
more  power  over  his  heart  than  if  she  had  never  existed. 
Might  it  not  be  the  same  with  those  he  had  loved  since  ? 
"Was  not  his  passion  for  Christie  beginning  to  grow  cold 
already  ?  Would  it  not  grow  colder  every  day  ?  And  in 
the  hot  ardor  of  his  love  he  had  made  this  little,  obs(Miro, 
uneducated,  shy  child  his  wife.  Wliy,  oh,  why  had  lie 
not  waited  ?  And  now  that  the  deed  was  forever  irrepar- 
able, where  was  this  to  end  ? 

They  reacned  Westport  before  dark  ;  and  Lem,  having 
landed  him,  set  oil  for  the  island  again,  promising  to 
return  for  him  in  the  morning.  1'he  moon  was  just 
rising  above  the  pine  trees  wlien  he  reached  home  ; 
and;    on   entering   the   house,    the  first  object  he  beheld 


I 


N 


'Si 


■'    ^   |i 


^ 


:1   i\i 

.-J  I 


I     f    ' 


llil 


I  i 


9G 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


was  his  young  mistress  in  close  conversation  with  hip 
mother. 

"  Lor'  snkos,  Miss  Sybil  !  you  here  ?"  was  Lem's  first 
ejaculation. 

"  Yes,  Lem  ;  and  glad  to  be  home  again,"  she  answered, 
gaily.  *'  Aunt  Moll  tells  me  you  have  just  been  taking 
Mr.  Drummond  over  to  Westport." 

"So  1  hev  ;  but  I'm  to  go  for  him  early  to-morrow 
mornin'.  'Spect  ef  he'd  knowed  you  was  a-comin'  he'd 
stayed  hero." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Aunt  Moll,  dubiously. 

''  Did  he  seem  lonely  during  my — during  our  absence  ?  " 
asked  Sybil. 

"  Lonesome  ?  'Deed  he  didn't,  honey  ;  he  was  in  fust- 
rate  spirits  all  de  time." 

**Ah!"  said  Sybil,  a  shadow  fdling  over  her  face; 
"he  spent  his  time  in  fishing  and  shooting,  I  suppose,  and 
snaring  birds  ?  " 

"  Snarin'  birds  ?  Yes  ;  an' caught  one,  too,"  said  Aunt 
Moll,  in  a  tone  that  spoke  volumes. 

"  Caught  one  ?  Wliat  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Moll  ?  I 
don't  understand,"  said  Sybil. 

"  Miss  Sybil,  don't  listen  to  her.  She's  allers  got  some 
nonsense  to  tell,"  interrupted  Lem,  casting  an  angry  and 
warning  glance  toward  his  mother. 

But  now  that  the  opportunity  she  had  so  long  waited 
for  had  come,  the  old  woman's  tongue  was  not  to  be 
stopped. 

"It's  all  fur  yer  good,  chile,  'deed  it  is  ;  an'  I 'siders 
it  my  duty  to  warn  you,  honey,  dat  Massa  Drummond 
ain't  to  be  'pended  on.     Dar  !  " 

*'  Aunt  Moll,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Speak,  and  tell  me 
what  you  are  hinting  at.  What  has  Mr.  Drummond 
done  ?  "  asked  Sybil,  growing  very  pale. 

"Well,  chile,  'stead  o'  stayin'  here  an'  thinking  ob  you, 
as  he'd  orter,  he's  been  prowlin'  all  hours  o'  de  night, 
round  de  island  wid  dat  ar  Miss  Chrissy — making  lub  to 
her,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  What  ? "  cried  Sybil,  in  a  tone  that  made  the  old 
woman  leap  to  her  feet,  as  she  sprang  forward  and  caught 
her  by  the  arm.  "  Dare  you  insinuate  such  a  thing  ?  I 
tell  you  he  could  not  and  he  would  not — he  dare  not 
prove  false  to  me  !  " 


i     .'4i|'m:'i 


SYBIL'S  RETURN  TO  THE  ISLE. 


07 


ted 
be 

lers 


roil, 
jht, 
I  to 

old 
not 


"Miss  Sybil,  honey!  for  de  Lord's  sake,  don't  look  at 
mo  wid  such  wild  eyes.  I  'spec's  she's  'witched  hirn.  I 
can't  'count  for  it  no  other  way,"  said  Aunt  Moll,  trem- 
bling before  the  awful  wrath  of  tho.se  blazing  eyes.  '*  I 
on'y  says  what  I  knows,  lie's  allele  time  talkin'  'bout  her 
to  liisself  when  he's  'lone." 

''  It  cannot  be  true  ;  he  dare  not  deceive  me  ! ''  almost 
shrieked  Svbil.  *'  What  proof  have  you  of  this  ?  Speak  ! 
speak  I 

"  Miss  Sybil,  honey,  you  may  'sassinate  me  ef  you's  a 
mind  to  ;  but  I's  tellin'  de  trufe.  Sence  eber  you  left, 
dey  ain't  a  minute  a[)art.  Dcy've  sailed  in  de  riber  after 
night,  an'  gone  trampin'  in  de  woods  in  de  day  time  ;  an' 
I's  heerd  him  callin'  her  his  '  dear  Chrissy  '  when  he's  'lone. 
I  knows,  chile,  'taint  pleasant  nor  likewise  'greeable  for 
you  to  hear  dis  ;  but  I  talks  for  your  good,  honev — 'deed 
I  does." 

]5ut  no^  the  iir.st  fierce  gust  of  passion  was  over,  and, 
pale  and  tottering,  Sybil  leaned  against  the  chimneypiece 
— her  arm  on  the  mantel,  her  head  ])owed  upon  it,  shud- 
dering, sinking,  collapsed.  All  his  neglect,  that  had 
puzzled  her  so  long,  was  accounted  f(jr  now.  She  was  for- 
gotten— deserted  for  this  island  girl  !" 

So  long  she  remained  in  that  fixed,  rigid  attitude  that 
Aunt  Moll  began  to  grow  alarmed,  and  she  was  on  the 
point  of  commencing  a  consoling  speech  beginning  with 
"Miss  Sybil,  honey,"  when  '.he  young  girl  lifted  her 
head  and  asked,  in  a  hollow  'rOice  : 

"'  Is  this — this  girl  in  the  island  still  ?  " 

"Yes,  chile  ;  ob  course  she  is — down  to  Miss  Tom's." 

For  a  moment  longer  Sybil  stood,  gazing  steadily  before 
her  with  those  wild,  fierce,  burning  eye&  ;  her  face  per- 
fectly colorless,  save  that  two  dark-purple  spots  blazed  in 
and  out  upon  it  like  burning  coals  ;  her  teeth  set  ;  her 
hands  clenched.  All  the  humiliation,  the  shanje,  the 
agony  of  being  deserted,  rushed;  like  a  burning  torrent, 
through  her  mind.  And  with  it  canie  a  fierce,  demoniacal 
hatred  of  her  idol  and  a  deadly  wish  to  be  avenged. 

Starting  suddenly  up  she  fled  up  the  stair,  through  the 
long,  unlighted  hall,  out  of  the  front  door,  and  took  the 
path  leading  to  Mrs.  Tom's.  The  bright  moonlight  lit 
all  around  \yith  a  pale,  radiant  glory.  And,  standing  near 
a  rock,  commanding  an  extensive  view  of  the  sea,  Christie 


If! 


m 


98 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


stood,  enjoying  tlie  beauty  of  tlio  niglit,  wlieu  suddenly  a 
fierce  gnisp  was  laid  on  her  shoulder  and  she  looked  up. 
Her  vision  was  realized.  Sybil  Campbell  stood  glaring 
upon  her  with  fierce,  wild,  black  eyes,  like  an  aroused 
tigress  preparing  to  spring. 


CIIAPTEU  XIII. 

THE    MKHTING. 


m 


•;. 

■1 

J 

i 

i 

i 

if.  ■,: 


It  '' 


Mi 


|; '' 


ih\^ 


riiou  mayst  liold  a  serpptit  by  the  tongue, 
A  chafed  lion  by  tlie  iiKJital  paw, 
A  fastiiij;  tiK»'r  safor  by  the  tooth 
Than  cross  this  lovo  of  niiiio  1  " 

TrfmuliN'  ,  paralyzed,  shrinking  with  terror  and  super- 
stitiouii  awe,  as  she  recollected  her  vision,  Christie  stood 
quailing  before  that  dark,  passionate  glance. 

And  glaring  upon  her  with  a  hatred  and  jealousy  that  for 
the  time  "swept  her  soul  in  tempests,''  and  insjjired  her 
with  a  momentary  frenzy,  Sybil  stood  transfixing  her  with 
those  wild,  fierce  eyes.  With  one  glance  she  took  in  all 
her  rival's  extraordinary  beauty,  far  surpassing  even  what 
she  feared  ;  and  the  sight,  to  her  passionate  heart,  was 
like  oil  poured  upon  flame. 

"So  !"  she  hissed,  at  length,  through  her  closed  teeth, 
**  pretty  Mistress  Christie  has  found  a  lover  during  my 
absence.  Girl,  take  care  !  You  have  begun  a  dangerous 
game,  but  the  end  has  not  come  !" 

Her  words  broke  the  spell  of  terror  that  held  Christie 
dumb.  And  now,  noticing  her  disordered  attire,  and 
wild,  disheveled  hair,  she  said,  in  surprise  and  entreaty  : 

"  Miss  Sybil,  what  has  happened  ?  What  Juive  I  done  ? 
I  did  not  know  you  were  on  the  ishind. " 

"  No,  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  Sybil,  with  a  hard, 
bitter  laugh.  "  Oli,  it  is  a  wondrous  pity  I  should  have 
come  so  soon  to  spoil  the  sport.  You  and  your  dainty 
lover  thought  yourselves  secure — thought  Sybil  Campbell 
far  away  !  But  again  I  say  to  you,  beware  !  for  'twere 
better  for  you  to  tamper  with  a  lioness  robbed  of  her 
young  than  with  tlie  passions  of  this  beating,  throbbing 
heart ! " 

She  looked  like  some  priestess  of  doom  pronouncing  woes 
upon   all   mankind  as  she  stood   there,    with    her  long, 


vi 


3 


THE  MEETING. 


99 


itio 
Liul 


irct. 
ave 
iitv 

)eU 
tore 

lier 


loes 


black,  strcaminfT  hair,  lier  wild,  burninjij,  passionato  eyes, 
liLT  faro  wliitc,  rii^nd  and  ghastly,  save  wliero  the  two 
purple  spots  still  hlaziid  in  and  out  ou  either  eheck. 

♦*  Oh,  Miss  Sybil — dear  Miss  Sybil  !  what  have  I  done  ? 
Oil,  1  never,  never  'ncant  to  otVcnd  you,  or  stand  in  your 
path  ;  as  h<'ave!i  hears  nie,  1  did  not  I  Tell  me.  oidy  tell 
me  in  what  1  have  onVnded,  and  1  will  never  do  it  aicain  I" 
said  ("hristie.  (daspinj^  her  hands  in  increasing  terror  and 
childlik(5  simplicity. 

'*  What  have  you  done  ?  Have  you  really  the  clTrontery 
to  stand  there  and  ask  me  such  a  question  ?" 

''  Miss  Sybil,  1  do  not  know — indeed,  indeed  I  do  not 
know!''  excdaimed  Christie,  earnestly. 

In  all  the  storm  of  anger  and  jealousy  that  raged  in  her 
soul,  a  look  of  superb  scorn  curled  the  li[)s  of  Sybil. 

**  You  do  not  know  I  Oh,  wondrous  innocence  !  angelic 
simplicity  !  Must  1  despise  you  as  well  as  hate  you  ! 
Listen,  then,  since  1  must  speak  my  shame,  and  answer 
me  truly  as  you  hope  for  salvation.     Promise " 


I  promise 


?  •'' 


"  Swear  to  answer  me  truly,  by  all  you  hold  dear  ou 
earth  !  by  your  hopes  of  heaven  !  " 

"  I  swear  !  Oh,  Sybil,  speak  !  "  cried  Christie,  wrought 
up  to  an  agony  of  terror  and  excitement  by  her  wild  words. 

**  Then — and  may  heaven's  heaviest  curse  fall  upon  him 
if  I  coniecture  truly — has  Willard  Drummond  dared  to 
speak  of  love  to  you  ?  " 

Pale,  trembling,  terror-stricken,  Christie's  tongue  clove 
to  the  roof  of  her  mouth  ;  had  her  life  depcnided  ou  it,  no 
sound  could  have  escaped  her  quivering  lips. 

*'  Speak  and  tell  me  !  Speak,  for  I  must  know — I  have 
a  right  to  know  I  "  cried  Sybil,  grasping  her  arm,  and  set- 
ting her  teeth  hard  to  keep  down  the  tempest  of  passion 
that  was  sweeping  through  her  soul. 

*'  Oh,  spare  me — spare  me  !  "  wailed  Christie,  lifting  up 
her  pleading  hand. 

'*  Death,  girl  !  Must  I  tear  the  truth  from  your  false 
lieart  !  Tell  me  truly,  has  he  dared  to  speak  of  love,  and 
have  you  dared  to  listen  to  him  ?  Heavens  !  will  you  speak 
before  I  am  tempted  to  murder  you  ?  *' 

Oh,  do  not  ask  me — do  not  ask  me  !  "  cried  Christie,  in 
a  dying  tone,  as,  trembling,  fainting,  she  sank  at  the  feet 
of  her  terrible  foe. 


100 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I 


iil 


}  M 


With  her  liiiiuls  clenched  until  the  nails  sank  into  tho 
quivering  llesh,  iier  teeth  set  liard,  lier  deep,  labored  breatli- 
ing,  her  passion-convulsed  face,  she  looked  more  like  an 
enraged  pythoness  tiian  a  frail  girl  learning  for  the  first 
time  lier  lover's  inlidelity. 

She  re(|uired  no  further  proof  now.  Ho  wliom  she 
would  have  trusted  with  her  soul's  salvation  Avas  false. 
And,  oh  !  ulnit  is  there  more  terrible  in  this  world  than  to 
learn  that  one  whom  we  love  and  trust  Inis  proven  untrue. 

Sybil  had  loved  assbe  had  done  everything  else,  madly  ; 
had  trusted  blindly  ;  had  worshiped  idolatrously,  adoring 
man  instead  of  God  ;  and  now  this  awakening  was  doubly 
terrible.  Had  Christie  been  in  her  place,  she  would  have 
wept  and  sobbed  in  the  utter  abajidon  of  sorrow  ;  but  her 
grief  would  have  been  nothing  in  comparison  to  the  dry, 
burning  despair  in  those  wild,  black  eyes. 

Now  that  she  had  learned  the  worst,  her  fiery  and  tem- 
pestuous fierceness  passed  away,  and  there  fell  a  great  calm 
— a  calm  all  the  more  terrific  after  her  late  storm  of 
passion. 

**And  so  I  am  forsaken,"  she  said,  in  a  deep,  hollow 
voice,  "  and  for  her — this  pretty,  blue-eyed  baby.  I,  whom 
he  promised  to  love  through  life,  and  beyond  death. 
Saints  in  heaven  !  shall  he  do  this  and  live  ?  " 

^' You  ?"  said  Christie,  lifting  her  pale,  terrified  face. 
"  And  did  he  promise  to  love  you,  too  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  learn  it,  and  let  it  whelm  your  soul  in  shame. 
Before  he  saw  you,  before  he  knew  you,  he  loved  me ;  and 
I  was  to  be  his  wife.  Yes,  weep,  and  wail,  iind  sob  ;  your 
tears  shall  no.  soon  dry.  You  have  caused  him  to  forget 
his  vows,  his  honor,  his  plighted  faith,  his  promised  love 
to  me,  and  you  must  pay  the  penalty." 

''  Oh,  I  never  knew  it — I  never  knew  it  ! "  wailed 
Christie,  wringing  her  hands. 

'^  And  as  he  has  been  false  to  me,  so  likewise  will  he  be 
false  to  you.  You  are  the  cause  of  this  treachery,  of  his 
broken  vows,  his  perjured  soul  ;  you  are  the  cause  of  all ; 
and  think  you  such  love  can  be  blessed  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me  !  Oh,  Sybil,  forgive  me  !  "  wailed  Christie, 
in  a  fainting  voice. 

"  May  God  never  forgive  me  if  I  do  ! "  cried  Sybil,  with 
impassioned  vehemence.  "  Think  you,  girl,  I  am  one  to 
be  won  by  tears  and  protestations  ?    Faugh  !  you  should 


TIIK  MEETING. 


101 


have  thought  of  all  this  when  you  listoiiod  to  his  unlawful 
love." 

♦*  Oh,  I  (lid  not  know  !  As  heaven  hears  me.  Tdid  not 
know  !  I  would  have  died  sooner  than  listened  to  him, 
had  I  known  !  " 

''  Prove  it,''  said  Sybil,  with  a  sudden  gleam  in  her  dark 
eyes. 

'*  How — how  ?  Only  say  how  I  shall  redeem  my  error  ! 
Let  me  know  how  I  nniy  atotie  !  " 

**  Atone  I — you?''  said  Sybil,  with  a  withering  sneer. 
'^  I  tell  you,  girl,  if  your  life  could  ho  prolonged  for  a 
thousand  years,  and  every  seeond  of  that  time  spent  in 
torture,  you  could  iu)t  atone  for  the  wrong  you  have  done 
mo.  liut  nuikc  sucli  expiation  as  you  can — prove  at  least 
that  there  is  some  truth  in  your  words.'' 

"Oh,  Svbil,  I  would  willingly  die,  if  I  could  redeem  my 

fault : " 

"  Your  death  would  not  redeem  it.  What  is  your  paltry 
life  to  me  ?  Neither  do  I  require  it — the  sacrifice  1  would 
have  you  make  is  easier.     Cive  him  up  !" 

"  Oh  !  anything  but  that  !  Sybil,  that  is  worse  than 
death  !  "  said  the  stricken  child-bride,  in  a  fainting 
voice. 

"  Did  you  not  say  you  would  atone  ? — prove  it  now — give 
him  up — it  is  my  right,  and  I  demand  it.      Promise." 

**  Oh,  Icanjiot  I — I  cannot  !"  moaned  Christie,  shrink- 
ing down,  down,  as  though  she  would  never  rise  again. 

**  And  this  is  your  repentance — this  your  atonement  for 
what  you  have  done?"  said  Sybil,  ste])ping  back,  and  re- 
garding her  with  superb  scorn.  ''This,  then,  is  the  end 
of  all  your  fine  promises  !  Girl,  I  tell  you,  you  dare  not — 
it  is  at  your  peril  you  see  him  more.  My  claim  is  above 
yours.  I  warn,  I  insist,  I  demand  that  you  give  him  up. 
It  is  my  right,  and  you  shall  do  it.  What  are  you,  little 
reptile,  that  you  should  stand  in  the  path  of  Sybil  Camp- 
bell ?  " 

"I  am  his  wife,"  arose  to  the  lips  of  Christie.  That 
little  sentence  she  well  knew  would  have  silenced  Sybil's 
claim  forever  ;  but  she  remembered  her  promise  in  time, 
and  was  silent. 

"  Rise,  girl  ;  don't  cower  there  at  my  feet,"  said  Sybil, 
stepping  back  in  bitter  contempt.  "  It  is  y<nir  [jlace,  it  is 
true  ;  but  his  love  has  ennobled  you,  since  it  has  raised  you 


■ii 


f 


I  /' 


i 


1 1, 


I 


'  li./!i 

f  II  i;     ' 

^1 

4  .1  >l 

102 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


to  tho  rank  of  my  rival.  Am  I  to  understand  you  promise 
your  L'oniinclion  witli  liini  is  jit  an  end  ?" 

*'  MisH  Sybil,  I  cannot.  I  love  liiin  I"  And,  ])ale  and 
sad,  Christie  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

The  l)laze,  the  dark,  scor('liin<,%  flaniing  glance  from 
those  eyes  of  lire  mij^ht  have  killed  her. 

**  And  you  dare  to  say  this  to  mo  ?"  she  snid,  or  rather 
hissed,  through  her  tijrhtly  clenched  teelh.  "  Audacious 
girl,  do  you  not  fear  that  1  will  strike  you  dead  where  you 
stand  ?" 

Ajjjain  Christie  thought  of  her  vision,  and  tremblin^r, 
terrified,  fainting,  she  clung  to  a  rock  for  support,  unable 
to  speak.  With  all  the  iiery,  long-sluniberijig  ])assion  of 
her  lion-heart  aroused,  tho  fierce,  dark  girl  before  her 
looked  des[)('rate  enough  for  anytliing. 

"Promise!"  she  said,  in  a  hollow  voice,  coming  nearer, 
and  raising  her  arm,  as  if  to  accomplisli  her  words. 

*^  I  cannot  !  Oh,  Miss  Sybil,  I  cannot  !  "  faltered  the 
almost  fainting  Christie. 

"  Promise  !  "  again  cried  Sybil,  glaring  upon  licr  with 
her  wild,  dark  eyes. 

"  1  cannot  !  "  still  wailed  Christie,  pressing  her  hand 
over  her  heart. 

*'  Promise,  or  die  ! ''  exclaimed  the  mad  girl,  grasping 
her  by  tho  arm  in  a  vise-like  grip. 

*'l  cannot — I  would  sooner  die  !"  said  Christie,  as,  un- 
able to  stand,  she  again  sank  at  the  feet  of  lier  vindictive 
foe. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  the  threat  would  be 
accomplished,  as  Sybil  stood  over  her  like  one  turned  to 
stone.  But  the  next  instant,  releasing  her  hold,  she 
hurled  her  from  her  ;  and  as  if  fleeing  from  temptation,  fled 
down  the  rocks,  over  tho  rough  path  toward  the  Lodge, 
and  sank,  fainting  and  exhausted,  on  the  sitting-room 
floor. 

An  hour  after  Aunt  Moll  entered,  and,  beholding  the 
prostrate  form  of  Sybil,  with  its  streaming  hair,  lying  prone 
on  the  floor,  grew  alarmed,  and  coming  over,  she  shook  her 
gently,  saying  : 

**  Miss  Sybil,  is  yer  sick  ?  Come,  git  up  now,  like  a 
good  chile,  'fore  you  catch  your  def  o'  cold,  a-lyin'  on  do 
bare  floor.  Deed,  honey,  'tain't  right  for  young  people 
to  heave  derselves  into  de  draft,  dis  way." 


THE  MEETING. 


103 


But  Aunt  Moll  wont  through  ;ill  tlu?  phases — **  comFurind- 
ing,  I'xhoriiiig " — in  vain,  ller  young  mistress  neither 
moved  nor  stirred. 

"Now,  Miss  Sy[)il.  do  git  u]) — please  do.  I)e  .iord 
knows  I'ri  'I'raid  you'll  cotch  de  rhumaliz  in  yer  l»onos. 
Most  oiiconirorlal)lest  t'ing  as  ever  was  ;  *sj)('ci:dly  'fore  a 
rain  storm,  wluai  ehery  j'int  feels  as  if  deru  was  forty  hun- 
dred cross-cut  saws  a-going  t'rough  it.  C'ojne,  chile — conu^ 
git  up,  an'  let  ver  ole  mammy  ondrcss  you,  an'  put  yer  to 
bed." 

And  Aunt  Moll  shook  the  supposed  sleeper  gently. 

Sybil  lifted  her  head,  und  half  rose,  disclosing  a  faco  so 
pale  and  haggard,  a  form  so  sunken  und  collaj»sed,  that 
Aunt  Moll  started  back  in  terror. 

"•  What  on  airthdo  nnitterin  you.  Miss  Sybil  ?  1  c'lai'O 
to  man,  if  yon  ain't  almost  skeered  me  out  o'  my  wits,  sure 
'null'  !     Js  yer  sick,  chile  ?" 

*"  Yes,  sick  ut  heart  I — sick  at  heart  !''  said  Sybil,  in  a 
despairing  voice. 

**  1  knowed  somefin'  was  do  matter  wid  yer.  Well,  git 
up  like  a  good  chile,  and  let  mc  git  some  catnip  tea  for  you  ; 
it's  de  best  cure  in  de  world  for  sich  com})laints.'' 

'"'  Oh,  Aunt  ^[oll,  leave  me  !  My  illness  is  l)eyond  your 
art.  Neither  poppy,  nor  mandragon  can  ev((r  medicine 
me  to  that  sweet  sleep  I  once  slept  beneath  this  roof." 

"  Now,  chile,  don't  say  so,"  said  Aunt  Moll,  tonched  by 
her  hopeless  tone.  *' Folks  ain't  tuk  so  sudden  as  all  dat, 
you  know.  I  ain't  got  no  ])oppy  nor  mandnigoon  ;  but 
catnip  tea  is  jes'  as  good,  cordin'  to  my  May  o'thinkin.'  An' 
when  you  take  a  good  night's  res',  you'll  be  all  well  in  de 
mornin' — please  de  Lor'." 

"  Rest  ?  Kest  ?  When  shall  I  rest  again  ?  Aunt  Moll, 
leave  me.     I  want  to  be  alone." 

"  'Deed,  Miss  Sybil,  I  dar'sn't  do  it — 'twon't  do  to  Icab 
you  here  in  de  draf,  all  alone.  Let  me  lielp  you  to  bed,  an' 
make  de  catnip  tea,  an'  vou'll  be  better  to-morrow,  sure." 

"Oh,  this  heart— this' heart  I  " 

"  Yes,  chile,  I  knows  ;  I  'spects  it's  de  cramps  you'se  got, 
an'  I  'vises  of  you  to  get  up.  Come,  honey,  come."  And 
Aunt  Moll  put  her  arm  coaxingly  round  her  young  lady's 
neck,  and  attempted  to  lift  her  up. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Moll  !  if  you  only  knew  my  affliction  ! 
What  matters  it  whether  1  die  or  not,  since  I  have  nothing 


ft; 
■I' 


I    ! 


I 


IN' 


■J  It 

■I'..': 


104 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


more  to  live  for  ?  I  might  .is  well  die  now  as  live  ;  fortho 
living  (Icjith  of  a  loveless  life." 

*'  You  imistn't  talk  so,  Miss  Sybil  ;  'taiu't  right,  nor  like- 
wise 'spet'tful  to  (le  Lord,  who  sends  us  cranups,  as  well  as 
healf,  soiuetitnes.  'Tis  ra'lly  'stonishin',  de  way  you  takes 
on  'bout  it." 

"Aunt  Moll,  I  am  not  bodily  ill — only  wronged,  suf- 
fering, despairing,  deceived,  broken-hearted  almost,"  said 
Sybil,  looking  straight  before  her,  with  a  lixed,  anguished 
look. 

'*  Dear  heart  !  don't  take  on  so  'bout  it.  I's  real  sorry, 
J  is." 

And  good  Aunt  Moll  passed  her  luiTid  gently  and  caress- 
ingly over  the  glossy,  dark  lo(d\s  of  the  young  girl. 

"Oh!  (here  is  nothing  but  falschoo(l  and  treacliery  in 
this  world  !  I,  win,  loved  and  trusted  so  much,  to  be  now 
decu^Ived  !  1  would  h;»ve  staked  my  life,  my  soul,  my 
lio[)es  of  heaven  on  his  hdelity  !  And  now,  this  awaken- 
ing from  my  blissful,  delusive  dream  is  worse  than  death. 
Oh,  Aunt  Moll,  my  dear  old  friend,  is  there  any  one  who 
really  loves  me  in  this  world  but  you  ?  " 

And,  wholly  overcome,  Sybil's  strong  despair  gave  way 
to  a  passionate  burst  of  tears. 

Since  Sybil  had  been  a  child,  Aunt  JNloll  never  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  her  weep  before  ;  and  now,  in  her 
quaint,  teiuler  manner,  she  strove  to  soothe  iier  grief. 
]iut  still  the  young  girl  wept  and  sobbed  with  wild  vehe- 
mei;ce,  until  nature  was  relieved  ;  then  she  looked  up, 
calmer  and  far  less  despairing  than  before. 

"  .Vunt  Moll, "she  said,  suddenly,  "what  time  does  Lem 
go  over  to  Westport  to-morrow  ?" 

"  !/efore  noon,  honey." 

"  'i  hen  tell  him  to  be  ready  to  take  me  to  N before 

he  goes  for  him  !  And  now,  Aunt  Moll,  I  will  follow  your 
advice,  and  retire." 

"But  won't  you  take  the  catnip  tea,  chile  ?"  ])ersisted 
the  old  woman,  who  had  some  vague  idea  of  the  all-po-vrr- 
ful  virtues  of  the  herb. 

"  No,  no,  tluuik  you  ;  I  do  not  need  it." 

"  But  it'll  do  you  good,  chile  ;  you'll  feel  more  comfort- 
able for  it." 

"  Comfort  !  comfort  !  Can  anything  ever  restore  com- 
fort here  ?  "     And  she  struck  her  breast  with  her  hand. 


JEALOUSY. 


105 


*^  Yc8,  honey  ;  do  catnip  tea." 

''CJootl  night,  Aunt  >loll."  And  Sybil  flitted,  like  a 
Blnidow,  up  the  long  stuircase,  and  disappeared  in  the 
gloom  beyond. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


JE.VLO'JBY. 


5in 


Ml 


"TrifU's,  li«lit  as  air. 
Art!  to  tilt'  Jmilons  coiiflrniiition  strong? 
As  proulH  of  holy  writ." 

—  Othello. 


Thk  next  morning,  Sybil  macio  bor  appearance  in  tbo 
sitting-room,  })ale,  wun  and  haggard,  as  thougli  bIio  had 
spent  a  sleepless  night.  Jiut  she  appeared  calm.  Wiiat- 
ever  course  slie  bad  determined  to  pursue  stiemed  fully 
settled,  and  now  siie  was  cidm  ;  but  it  was  liive  tlie  calm- 
ness of  a  slee[)ing  volcano,  from  whinli  lire  and  flame, 
hurling  destruction  on  all,  might  at  any  moment  burst 
forth. 

Answerir.g  gravely  all  Aunt  Moll's  anxious  inquiries 
after  bor  health,  she  seated  herself  at  tlu;  breakfast  table, 
but  touched  nothing,  save  a  cup  of  hotcolToe.  And,  after 
this  slight  refreshment,  she  put  oji  her  Juit  and  maiitle, 
and  descended  to  the  Ixsacb,  where  Lem,  with  the  \xnit, 
was  already  awaiting  her  (;oming. 

Seating  herself,  she  wrap[)ed  her  mantle  closely  around 
licr,  and,  fixing  her  eyes  steadily  on  the  dancing  wiives, 
the  journey  was  ])erformed   in  stern  silence.     Two  hours 

brought  them  to  iN ;  and,  leaving  her  there,  Lem  s(;t 

out  for  Westport,  to  meet  Drummond.  Arrived  there, 
he  found  that  young  gentleman,  acc-ompanied  by  Cjiptain 
C'am})bell,  and  a  florid,  bald-heiuled  old  man,  who  proved 
to  be  the  surgeon. 

On  their  way,  Willard  explained  to  them  how  the 
wounded  man  and  his  wife  had  been  savi'd  from  the  wreck. 
And  when  they  reached  the  island,  ("a])taii'  ('ampbell,  un- 
conscious that  his  sister  was  gone,  hastened  to  tin;  liodgc, 
while  Willard  accompanied  the  surgeon  to  the  cottage  of 
]\L's.  Tom. 

As  they  entered,  Christie,  who,  in  spite  of  her  hidden 


■:.  11 


1''. 

h 


106 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


r   I'. 


grief,  was  busily  employed  as  usual,  looked   hastily  up, 
and  turned,  if  possible,  a  siiade  paler  than  before. 

Mrs.  Courtney  sat  listlessly  turni?ig  over  the  leaves  of  a 
novel,  with  a  "terribly  boied"  look  on  her  pretty  face; 
while  op[)osite  her,  supported  by  pillows,  on  Mi-s.  Tom's 
wooden  sofa,  lay  her  wounded  hr.sbaiicl,  whose  eyes  never 
for  a  moment  wandered  from  his  wife's  face. 

He  was  a  nnm  of  thirty,  at  least,  and  would  have  been 
handsome,  but  for  his  ghastly  pallor,  and  a  certain  sour, 
querulous,  suspicious  ex})ression  his  face  wore.  His  com- 
plexion, naturally  dark,  had  fa<lea  tO  a  sickly  yellow,  look- 
ing almost  white  in  contrast  with  his  black  hair,  and  thick, 
black  whiskers  and  mustache.  But  it  was  the  expression 
of  his  face  tluit  was  [)articularly  un])repossessing — in  the 
thin,  compressed  lips,  and  watchful,  cunning  eyes,  you 
could  read  suspicion,  distrust,  and  doubt.  Two  things 
would  have  struck  you  instantly,  had  you  seen  liim  sitting 
there — one  was  his  passionate  love  for  his  wife  ;  the  other, 
a  slumbering  fire  of  iealous\,  that  the  faintest  breath 
might  have  fanned  in*^o  a  never-dying  flame. 

They  formed  a  striking  contrast  as  they  sat  there — she 
so  pretty,  careless,  saucy  and  iiulitferent  :  he  so  haggard 
with  illness,  and  witn  that  watchful,  distrustful  look  on 
his  face.  And  yet  it  had  been  a  love  match — he  loved 
her  to  idolatry,  and  she,  rejecting  perhaps  worthier  suit- 
ors, at  the  age  of  sixteen  had  run  away  from  school,  and 
eloped  with  Edgar  Courtney.  Willai'd  Drummoiul  had 
been  among  the  rejected  ones.  Before  the  honeymoon 
was  over,  the  wild  girl  had  found  she  had  married  a 
jealous,  exacting  tyrant,  who  hated  every  man  on  whom 
she  smiled,  and  would  have  kept  her  locked  up  where  no 
eye  but  his  own  could  ever  rest  upon  her,  had  he  dared. 
At  first,  little  Laura  submitted  to  his  caprices,  because 
she  loved  him,  or  thought  she  did  ;  but,  as  he  grew  more 
and  more  exacting,  this  love  died  wholly  away — and  the 
little  bride  awoke  one  morning,  in  disnuiy,  to  find  che  had 
made  a  lifelong  mistake.  Still  she  was  too  good  and 
generous  to  strive  to  lay  the  blame  on  him  for  taking 
advantage  of  her  youth  and  romantic  impulse  to  fly  with 
him,  and  would  have  lau2:hed  and  danced  on  as  merrily 
as  ever  with  him  through  life,  without  letting  him  know 
it,  had  not  his  own  conduct  brought  on  the  denouement. 
He  continued  to  be  tyrannical ;   Laura,  naturally  proud 


on 
loved 
biiit- 
and 
bad 
loon 
d   a 
horn 
le  no 
red. 
luse 
lore 
the 
had 
and 
idng 
Ivith ' 
•rily 
Inow 
lent. 
loud 


JEALOUSY. 


107 


and  high-spirited,  grew  at  length  very  tired  of  his  absnrd 
fancies  and  ^vishes,  and  vowed  she  would  no  longer  be  a 
"  meek,  submi.'-sive  wife."  But,  though  inwardly  despis- 
ing him  herself  she  would  allow  no  one  else  to  speak  slight- 
ingly of  him,  as  her  first  interview  with  Willard  Drum- 
mond  proves.  And  all  the  previous  night  she  had  liovered 
over  his  bedside,  anticipating  his  every  want  with  the 
most  tender  and  vigilant  care  ;  and  it  was  only  when,  tlie 
next  morn,  he  found  himself  able  to  get  up,  that  she  had 
resumed  her  accustomed  air  of  careless  inditferencc  to 
himself  and  his  wishes.  Had  he  been  more  generous  and 
less  supicious — had  lie  had  faith  in  his  young  wife,  she 
would  have  loved  him,  anr.  been  his  alone  ;  but  had  he 
really  wished  to  make  her  hate  him,  he  could  not  iuive 
taken  a  surer  plan  to  bring  about  such  a  result  than  the 
one  he  did. 

All  this  long  digression  is  necessary,  taat  too  much 
blame  nuiy  not  be  thrown  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  poor 
little  girl-bride  for  her  reckless  conduct,  and  the  awful 
catastrophe  that  followed. 

When  Willard  and  the  doctor  entered,  Christie,  who  Inid 
anxiously  waited  for  this  opportunity,  seeing  Mrs.  Tom 
busily  engaged,  touched  her  husband  on  the  arm,  and, 
whispering  ''  Follow  me,'"  left  the  house. 

He  unhcsitatin2:lv  oheved,  and  overtook  her  near  the 
end  of  the  garden,  where,  pale  and  troubled,  she  stood 
leaning  against  a  tree. 

^'  Well,  Christie,  what  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

*'  Willard,"  she  said,  lifting  her  reproachful  eyes  to  his 
face,  "  Sybil  Campbell  was  here  last  night !  " 

'MY ell  I''  lie  said,  stai'ting,  and  coloring  deeply. 

"  Oh,  Willard  !  she  told  me  all — liow  you  had  deceived 
her,  and  deceived  me  !  Oh,  Willard  I  how  could  you  do 
so?" 

''  Deceived  her  ? — deceived  you  ?  I  do  not  understand, 
Christie,"  he  said,  coldly. 

''  Oh,  Willard  !  you  do  !  You  promised  to  love  only  her 
— to  marry  her  ;  yet  you  deceived  her,  and  married  me  !  " 

''  Well,  a  moment  ago,  you  said  1  deceived  you,  like- 
wise. And  how,  I  pray  you,  madam  ?  Go  on,"  he  said, 
with  a  sneer. 

*' You  made  me  your  wife  while  pledged  to  another  !" 

''Which,  doubless,  causes  you  a  great  deal  of  sorrc 


*> 


?!  i 


t        i! 


U] 


■    1"*  -■('. 


ll 


108 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


he  said,  in  a  tone  of  slight  piqne,  for  tliougli  his  passion 
for  Christie  was  dying  away,  he  could  not  endure  the 
thought,  as  yet,  of  her  forgetting  him  ! 

*'  Oil,  Willard  !  you  know  being  your  wife  is  the  great- 
est happiness  on  earth  for  me  ;  but  wlien  1  saw  her,  last 
night,  so  wild,  passionate  and  despairing,  I  felt  as  if  I 
could  have  died  for  very  shame,  to  think  I  had  been  the 
cause  of  her  misery  I  " 

**  Then  she  did  seem  despairing  ! "  he  said,  while  his 
face  flushed. 

"Oh,  yes!  almost  crazed,  mad,  frenzied.  Her  eyes 
seemed  killing  me  !  " 

*'  Who  could  have  told  her  ? — not  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly. 

"  Oil,  no — no  !  I  do  not  know  how  she  heard  it ;  but 
she  knew  all." 

*' What  !  our  marriage,  and  all?"  he  cried,  starting 
up,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  that  made  Christie  start 
back. 

*'  No  ;  she  did  not  know  that.     But " 

"  You  did  not  dare  to  tell  her  ? "  he  said,  almost 
threateningly. 

"  Oh  !  wliy  will  you  speak  to  me  in  that  tone,  dearest 
Willard  ?     I  did  not  mean  to  reproach  you." 

'^  It  is  very  like  it,  however,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

'*  But  may  I  not  tell  her,  Willard  ?  She  wanted  me  to 
give  you  up  ;  and  I  thought  she  would  have  killed  me  be- 
cause I  refused.  I  fear  she  may  come  again  ;  and,  indeed, 
such  another  interview  would  kill  me  !  If  she  knew  all, 
she  would  desist.  Oh,  Willard,  dearest !  will  you  not  tell 
her — or  may  I  not  tell  her  ?  " 

'*Not  for  the  world — not  for  ten  thousand  worlds! 
Would  you  ruin  me,  Christie  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  impetu- 
ously. 

''  Ruin  yon,  Willard  ?  "  she  said  faintly. 

"  My  worldly  prospects,  I  mean.  My — oh,  the  thing  is 
impossible  ! "  he  said,  vehemently.  "  I  will  not  hear  of 
it  for  a  moment." 

"  But  you  promised,"  she  began,  in  a  choking  voice. 

"And  will  koep  that  promise  when  the  proper  time 
comes.  At  present  it  is  impossible — utterly  impossible,  I 
tell  you.     You  must  have  faith  in  me,  and  wait,  Christie  ! " 

!Faith  I    Was  he  worthy  of  it  ?    The  thought  arose  in 


II 


JEALOUSY. 


109 


;ed, 
all, 
tell 

Ids  ! 
)tu- 


'of 


ime 
I 


in 


the  mind  of  Christie,  to  be  instantly  banished,  as  slio 
heroically  kept  back  her  rising  tears,  and  strove  to  say,  in 
a  calm  voice  : 

'MV^ait !  But  for  how  long?  Willard,  this  secrecy  is 
dreadful ;  this  dece[)tion  weighs  on  my  heart  like  lead  I  " 

**  I  do  not  know  ;  I  cannot  tell.  How  often  have  I 
said,  when  the  })i'oper  time  comes,  when  I  may  safely 
avow  it,  all  shall  be  revealed.  Christie,  you  are  selfisli — 
you  have  no  consideration  for  any  one  but  yourself.  Jf  I 
loved  you  better  than  Miss  Campbell,  you  should  be  the 
last  one  to  reproach  me  with  it.  Take  care  that  mniiy 
such  scenes  as  this  do  not  banish  that  love  altogether  I  " 

llis  deeply  offended  tone  sent  the  coldness  of  death  to 
the  very  heart  of  Christie.  She  had  not  meant  to  anger 
him  ;  and  now  he  was  deeply  displeased.  lie  had  iicver 
looked  or  spoken  to  her  so  before.  And,  totally  overcome, 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept  aloud. 

He  was  not  proof  against  her  tears.  All  the  old  tender- 
ness returned  at  the  sight,  and,  going  over,  he  removed 
her  hands,  saying  gently  : 

"  My  dearest  love,  forgive  me.  I  was  vexed,  surprised, 
grieved,  and  in  the  wrong.  Look  up,  little  wife.  Lift 
those  blue  eyes,  and  say  you  forgive  me  ! " 

Before  she  could  reply,  a  footstep  was  heard  approach- 
ing, and  she  had  only  time  to  bestow  on  him  one  look  of 
love  and  pardon,  and  dart  away,  ere  Captain  Campbell 
came  in  view. 

"Well,  Drumriond,  what  says  the  doctor  about  your 
patient  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  he  came  up. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  since  he  went  in.  But  here  he 
comes,  to  answer  for  himself." 

At  this  moment  the  doctor  made  his  appearance,  and 
Willard  propounded  the  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  serious,  sir  !  He'll  be  better  in  a 
day  or  two,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  Meantime,  how  am  I 
to  get  home  ?  " 

*'  My  servant  is  down  on  the  shore,  waiting  to  take  you 
over,"  said  Captain  Campbell. 

*'ril  attend  you  down,  doctor,"  said  Willard,  taking 
the  old  gentleman's  arm. 

"And  as  I  reign  king,  undisputed,  here,  I  suppose  it 
will  be  only  a  polite  attention  to  visit  my  wounded  sub- 
ject/' said  Captain  Campbell,  approaching  the  cottage. 


rr^ 


ill  I 


'  SI 


li?  f 


ii 


fill 


SI    ! 


pi 


110 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


On  entering  he  was  presented  by  Mrs.  Tom  to  her  gnests. 

Equally  surprised  and  pleased  to  find  so  pretty  and 
piquant  a  little  lady  in  Mrs.  Courtney,  the  young  captain 
took  a  seat  beside  h<;r,  and  entered  foi'thwith  into  conver- 
sation. Mr.  Courtney  scowled  at  the  handsome  young 
captain  from  uiuler  his  black  eyebrows,  but  said  notliing. 

And  Mrs.  Courtney,  who  was  delighted  by  tlie  agreeable 
and  gentlemanly  newcomer,  flung  aside  her  novel,  forgot 
her  ennui,  and  laughed  and  chatted  with  a  volubility  that 
amazed  and  deliglited  her  companion,  who  immediately 
entered  into  a  war  of  it,  words  and  repartee,  during  wliicli 
the  time  sped  rapidly  away. 

Mrs.  Tom  was  the  only  auditor,  however,  who  seemed 
in  the  least  to  enjoy  tlieir  smart  sayings  and  sharp,  witty 
retorts  ;  for  Carl,  under  the  unfailing  eye  of  his  aunt, 
was  groaning  in  spirit  as  he  sat  plucking  fowls  with  a 
haste  and  energy  that  brought  great  drops  of  perspiration 
to  his  brow,  hearing,  every  t.'me  he  ventured  to  look  up, 
a  shrill  '*You,  Carl!"  that  instantly  set  him  to  work 
again  with  renewed  vigor.  Christie,  pale,  silent  and 
thoughtful,  bent  over  her  sewing  near  the  window,  and  Mr. 
Courtney's   scowl  grew  every  moment  darker  and  darker. 

At  last,  after  two  delightful  hours,  Captain  Campbell 
arose,  reluctantly,  to  go,  saying  : 

"  My  sister  will  doubtless  be  here  in  a  day  or  two,  Mrs. 
Courtney,  and  then  you  must  become  our  guest.  Mean- 
time, 1  shall  be  delighted  to  show  you  my  island  home, 
and  assist  in  every  way  I  can  to  make  the  time  of  your 
stay  pass  as  pleasantly  as  possible." 

Mr.  Courtney's  midnight  brows  grew  black  as  a  thunder 
cloud,  and  blacker,  if  possible,  as  his  wife  gaily  replied  : 

*'  Thank  you,  sir.  Nothing  could  give  me  more  pleas- 
ure ;  so,  to-morrow  I  shall,  with  your  permission,  take  an 
inventory  of  your  enchanting  isle." 

"  Shall  you,  madain  ? "  interrupted  her  husband,  be- 
tween his  teeth.      ^' We  shall  see  about  that  !  " 

All  the  rest  of  the  evening  Mr.  Courtney  was  just  as 
silent,  sulky  and  sour  as  he  knew  how  to  be,  which  is  say- 
ing a  good  deal.  And  that  night,  after  they  had  retired 
to  the  inner  room  which  Mrs.  Tom  had  vacated  to  their 
use,  he  took  her  to  task  in  the  following  manner  : 

"  Pray,  madam,  may  I  ask  what  business  you  had  giving 
that  fellow  any  such  promises  as  you  did  ?  " 


JEALOUSY. 


Ill 


liider 
lied  : 
^leas- 
:e  an 

be- 

5t  as 
sav- 
ored 
;lieir 

Iving 


Now,  Mrs.  Courtney  had  seen  her  liusband*s  groundless 
jealousy  all  the  eveiiiiig,  and  had  been  excessively  annoyed 
thereby,  fearing  Captain  Campbell  might  observe  it,  too, 
and  wonder  at  it.  Therefore,  feeling  justly  indignant,  she 
cooly  replied  : 

"  Because,  sir,  it  was  my  good  pleasure  to  do  so," 

**  Indeed  ! " — and  the  dark  brow  foreboded  a  storm — 
"  indeed,  Mrs.  Courtney  !  And  is  it  your  intention  to  go 
roaming  with  this  fellow  alone  through  the  island  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly,  Mr.  Courtney.  How  astonishingly 
clever  you  are  at  guessing  !  " 

"  Madam,  you  shall  not  go." 

"  Sir,  I  shall  go  !  "  said  the  lady,  imitating  his  tone  ex- 
actly. 

"  Have  you  no  respect  for  yourself,  madam — none  for 
me,  your  husband  ?  ' 

"  Not  the  least,  sir." 

"It  will  be  on  your  peril  if  you  go." 

"  No  it  won't — it'll  be  on  my  feet." 

'*  Silence,  madam  I"  he  thundered,  grinding  his  teeth 
with  rage.  *'  Do  not  dare  to  be  impertinent  or  you  will 
repent  it." 

"  Mr.  Courtney,  allow  me  to  observe  the  inmates  of  this 
house  are  trying  to  sleep.  IIow  they  will  succeed  if  you 
go  on  in  that  manner  is  a  question  easily  answered,"  said 
Mrs.  Courtney,  sitting  down  with  most  provoking  cool- 
ness, and  beginning  to  unlace  her  boots. 

"  Mrs.  Courtney,  I  command  you  not  to  go  with  this 
man  to-morrow  ! " 

**  Mr.  Courtney,  you  may  command  till  you  are  black 
in  the  face  ;  but  I've  promised  and  I'll  go !"  said  his  re- 
bellious spouse. 

He  half  sprang  up  from  the  bed  in  which  he  was  lying, 
his  eyes  fairly  scintillating  with  rage. 

"  Would  you  dare  disgrace  me  in  this  way  ?  "  he  said, 
in  a  voice  hoarse  with  passion. 

*'  Disgrace  you  ?  Disgrace  a  fiddlestick  !  Are  you 
losing  all  the  little  sense  you  ever  had,  Mr.  Courtney  ? " 
said  his  wife,  now  really  indignant. 

*^  Are  vou  reallv  smitten  with — do  you  love  this  man  ?" 
he  asked,  in  a  hoarse,  fierce  whisper;  keeping  his  gleam- 
ing black  eyes  still  fixed  on  her  face. 


k:\: 


.ip 


113 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


For  a  moment  a  flash  of  intense  anger  shot  from  the 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Courtney;  then,  as  if  the  absurdiuy  of  tlie 
question  overcame  every  other  feeling,  she  threw  lierself 
back  in  her  chair  and  broke  out  in  a  hearty  peal  of 
laughter. 

The  action  might  have  dispersed  his  absurd  doubts ;  but 
as  nothing  can  convince  jealous  souls,  he  even  looked  upon 
this  as  another  proof  of  her  guilt ;  and,  raising  liiniself 
up  in  his  bed,  he  grasped  her  arm,  while  he  again  hissed  : 

''  Do  you  love  him  ?  " 

*'Mr.  Courtney,  don^t  bother  me,"  said  his  polite 
spouse,  indignantly  shaking  olf  his  hand  ;  ^' and  don't 
make  a  greater  simpleton  of  yourself  than  nature  made 
you.  Love  him,  indeed  !  I've  had  enough  of  love  for 
one  while,  I  can  tell  you.  I  found  it  dose  enough  the  hist 
time  I  was  fool  enough  to  try  it,  and  now  that  I've  got 
nicely  over  it,  nobody'll  catch  me  at  it  again." 

This  was  a  most  unfortunate  speech,  for  Courtney's  fear, 
day  and  night,  was  lest  his  wife  should  cease  to  love  him. 
He  closed  his  teeth  with  a  snap  and  fell  back  on  his  pillow 
with  a  sepulchral  moan. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Mrs.  Courtney  leisurely 
combed  out  her  curls  and  Mr.  Courtney  lay  with  knit 
brows  and  deep,  labored  breathing.  At  length  he  turned 
over  and  said  huskily  : 

*' Laura!" 

*'  Well  ?  "  said  Laura,  going  on  with  her  combing  and 
brushing. 

"  You  won't  go  out  to-morrow  ?  " 

*'  Won't  I  ?     That's  all  you  know  about  it,  then." 

"  It's  my  wish  you  should  stay." 

**  And  it's  my  wish  to  go." 

**  Then  you  will  go  ?  " 

'*  Most  decidedly.  And  now,  Mr.  Courtney,  hold  your 
tongue,  for  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

lie  clenched  his  teeth  with  impotent  rage,  and  his 
jealous  soul  shone  forth  hideously  from  his  glittering  eyes. 
And,  angry  and  indignant,  Mrs.  Courtney  went  asleep, 
muttering  : 

^'  I  vow  to  Cupid  you  shall  have  some  cause  for  jealousy, 
my  wise  lord  and  master.  Pity  to  have  you  jealous  for 
nothing  ;  so,  handsome  Captain  Campbell,  look  out,  for  I 
mean  to  flirt  like  fury. 


I 


SELF-TORTURE. 


113 


\ 


CHAPTER  XV. 


SELF-TOUTUKE. 


and 


your 

his 
leyes. 
pleep, 

msy, 
18  for 
[or  I 


"  And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love, 
Doth  work  like  madness  on  the  brain." 

— COLERIDOK. 

That  night  of  deej  st  woe  to  tlio  passionate  heart  of 
Sybil  had  beon  spent  in  pacing  up  and  down  lier  room, 
now  liurling  fierce,  bitter  maledictions  on  the  liead  of  him 
who  had  deceived  her,  and  on  this  puny  girl  for  whose 
sake  she  had  been  thrown  aside  ;  then  in  breathing  wild, 
passionate  vows  of  vengeance  for  the  wrong,  the  deep 
humiliation,  that  had  been  done  her,  and  anon  throwing 
herself  upon  the  floor  in  a  convulsive  fit  of  weeping.  Then 
another  mood  would  come, when  she  would  forget  all  but  the 
blissful  days  of  the  past,  and  all  her  despised  love  and 
tenderness  would  flood  back  to  her  soul,  and  her  very 
heart  would  cry  out  to  be  with  him  again.  And  then 
would  come  the  thought  that  this  could  never,  never  be 
again ;  and  she  would  spring  up  with  blazing  eyes,  her 
very  tears  seemingly  turned  to  sparks  of  fire. 

And  mingled  with  all  these  stormy  passions  was  an 
undercurrent  of  deepest  shame,  of  bitter  humiliation,  of 
wounded  self-love  and  humbled  pride.  That  she,  the  de- 
scendant of  a  haughty  Highland  clan,  the  daughter  of  a 
princely  race,  should  be  forgotten  for  one  so  far  beneath 
her  in  every  way  was  a  disgrace  that  sent  the  blood  tin- 
gling to  her  pale  cheeks  and  made  her  clench  her  hands  in 
impotent  despair. 

So  passed  the  night. 

With  morning  came  a  calmer  mood.  The  necessity  of 
adopting  some  line  of  conduct  that  would  bring  matters 
to  a  speedy  denouement  soothed  for  the  time  her  frenzied 
brain.  No  one  must  know  as  yet  of  her  desertion.  She 
felt  as  though  she  could  die  sooner  than  survive  the 
shame  of  such  a  discovery.  Neither  could  she  stay  on 
the  island.  Her  time  for  meeting  her  betrayer  had  not 
come ;  but  it   was  at  hand,  and   then — The  flame  that 


M^ 


114 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


leaped  like  forked  lightning  from  her  bhick  eyes,  the  deep 
smile  that  curled  her  lips,  better  than  words  spoke  tho 
rest. 

Leaning  her  head  on  her  hand  she  thought  intently. 
She  would  return  to  the  parsonage,  and  remain  there 
until  her  future  course  was  decided  upon.  She  could 
easily  feign  some  plausible  pretext  for  leaving  the  island, 
and  good  Mrs.  Brantwell,  she  knew,  would  be  but  too 
happy  to  have  her. 

And,  in  pursuance  of  this  rosoiutioii,  she  went,  early 
Die  following  morning,  back  to  N . 

Mrs.  Brantwell,  as  Sybil  anticipated,  met  lier  with  a 
joyful  welcome,  and  announced  her  resolution  of  giving  a 
party  a  few  evenings  after  in  her  welcome.  Sybil,  in  her 
present  state  of  mind,  would  have  shrunk  from  appearing 
in  public  ;  but  as  she  could  not  do  so  without  offending 
and  surprising  her  hostess,  and  perhaps  arousing  her  sus- 
picions she  made  no  resistance  to  the  plan. 

"  And  you  know,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brantwell,  ''  now 
that  you  are  an  heiress,  it  is  time  that  you  should  come 
out.  Next  winter  yon  must  go  to  New  York  and  spend 
the  gay  season  there ;  for,  of  course,  you  are  quite  too 
young  to  think  of  being  married  yet.  I  do  not  believe, 
for  my  part,  in  this  new  fashion  of  marrying  girls  before 
they  are  out  of  their  bibs  and  tuckers,  and  have  them 
settle  down  into  old  women  before  they  are  five  and 
twenty.  So,  my  dear,  just  politely  inform  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  that  he  must  await  your  ladyship's  sovereign 
pleasure  ;  and  if  he  rebels,  as  of  course  he  will,  give  him 
to  understand  he  is  not  your  lord  and  master  yet,  and  you 
intend  doing  as  you  please.  Men  need  to  be  put  down, 
you  know,  my  dear ;  it  does  them  good  and  takes  the 
nonsense  out  of  them."  And  Mrs.  Brantwell  laughed  her 
jolly  little  laugh. 

Sybil  averted  her  head  to  conceal  the  de.  dly  paleness  of 
her  face. 

**  And  now,  Sybil,"  continued  the  good  old  lady,  '*  I 
want  you  to  go  with  me  to  the  Island.  Guy  has  told  me 
of  a  lady  and  gentleman  who  were  saved  from  the  wreck 
and  are  stopping  at  that  cottage,  and  I  wish  to  invite 
them  here  to-morrow.     So  go  and  get  ready." 

excuse  me,  I  had  rather  not  | 
r  face  averted. 


(< 


w 


Sybil,  still  keeping 


SELF-TORTURE. 


115 


'a 

me 
'eck 
Tite 


»9 


"Not  go!  Wiiai,  now,  Mistross  Sybil?  'I'liis  is  cor- 
taiiilv  soFiK'lluii.u^  new,"  said  tlie  astoni.shod  old  lady. 

*'  I  liavo  a — JK-adafdic,  and  would  prefer  lying  <lown," 
said  Sybil,  without  turniu;^  round. 

''  Oh,  in  that  ease  1  suppose  I  must  go  alone.  I'll  send 
I5etty  up  with  some  vincLiar  to  bat  lie  your  hea<l  before  I 
go,"  said  the  unsuspecting  lady  of  the  mansion,  as  she 
left  the  room  to  dre-s  for  the  journey. 

Captain  Campbell,  who  Avas  waiting  for  hei*  on  the 
shore,  aeoompanied  her  to  Mrs.  '^Fom's  and  presented  her 
to  pretty  litth;  Mrs.  Cor.i  Lney,  "who  took  (;aptive  almost 
instantly  the  good  lady's  heart,  as  she  did  tliat  of  most 
other  people,  and  promptly  areeptcd  the  invitation,  to 
the  manifest  annoyajice  of  her  husband. 

]\[r.  Courtney,  thougli  still  quite  weak  and  ailing,  re- 
solved also  upon  going,  to  watch  his  wife,  under  the  con- 
viction that  her  S(jle  intent  and  purpose  in  going  was  to 
jueet  Captain  Campbell. 

And  Willard  Di'ummond,  who  was  present,  likewise 
received  and  accepted  her  invitation.  AVhat  liis  motive 
in  going  could  be,  knowing  Sybil  would  be  there,  it  would 
be  hard  to  divine. 

The  evening  for  the  party  came,  and  at  an  early  hour 
the  drawing-iOom  of  the  parsonage  was  all  ablaze  with 
lights.  Carriage  after  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  door,  and 
bevy  after  bevy  of  fair  hidies,  elega.ntly  dressed,  flocked, 
like  bright-plumaged  birds,  through  the  brilliant  rooms, 
a!ul  carried  on  gay  flirtations  with  their  friends  in  broad- 
cloth. 

Mrs.  Brantv,'ell,  magnificent  in  black  velvet,  stood  near 
the  door  to  receive  her  guests.  But  every  eye  was  fixed 
wonderingly,  admiringly,  on  Sybil,  who  moved  with  the 
step  of  an  empress  through  the  throng. 

Surprisingly  beautiful  slie  looked,  with  her  crisp,  shin- 
ing curls  of  jet,  shading  on  either  side  the  burning  crim- 
son cheeks,  lier  splendid  Syrian  eyes  emitting  a  vivid 
streaming  light,  her  rich  dark  robe  of  sheeny  satin  ftdlmg 
with  classic  elegance  from  her  rounded  waist  ;  but  the 
lisfht  in  her  eves  was  the  tire  of  fever — the  "low  on  her 
cheeks  the  blaze  of  excitement,  for  the  hour  she  had 
waited  for  had  come,  and  Willard  Drummond  would 
stand  arraigned  before  tier  that  night. 

Mrs.  Courtney,  bright,   piquant,   bewitching,    divided 


r> 


iT- 


I 


lit 


li' 


116 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


the  honors  and  ml  miration  of  tlie  evening  with  Sybil. 
Her  liiisband,  i)jile,  ghastly,  haggard  with  illness,  and 
EnfTering  the  tortures  of  a  mind  diseased,  moved  like  a 
specter,  silent,  gloomy  and  watchful,  through  the  merry 
throng.  And  Captain  Campbell,  elated,  handsome  and 
courteous,  was  there,  too,  the  recipient  of  many  a  bo- 
witching  glance  from  the  bright  eyes  i)resent. 

The  conipiiny  were  all  assembled,  chatting,  laughing, 
flirting,  all  but  one.  Sybil  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  gay 
group,  the  *'  bright  particular  star  "  of  the  evening,  carry- 
ing on  a  spirited  conversation,  hut  ever  and  anon  lier  eyes 
would  wander  to  the  door  with  fierce  impatience.  Why 
did  he  not  come  ? 

Edgar  Courtney,  standing  gloomily  by  himself,  was 
enduring  the  torments  of  a  lost  soul.  His  wife,  knowing 
he  was  unequal  to  the  effort,  had  endeavored  to  persuade 
him  to  stay  ;  but  this  he  ascribed  to  the  wish  of  being 
alone  with  Captain  Campbell.  Then  she  offered  to  remain 
with  him,  and  this,  also,  he  refused,  thinking,  with  strange 
self-torture,  some  evil  design  lay  beneath.  He  would 
come — he  would  watch  her  ;  and  Mrs.  Courtney's  high 
spirit  arose,  and  she  proudly  and  angrily  resolved  to  act 
just  as  she  pleased,  and  flirt  just  as  desperately  as  ever 
she  could.  She  had  told  him  she  did  not  love  him — she 
had  gone,  in  defiance  ot  his  express  command,  in  com- 
pany with  Captain  Campbell,  walking  through  the  island  ; 
and  from  this  slight  foundation  Mr.  Courtney  judged 
his  wife  had  fallen  in  love  with  Captain  Campbell. 
"Where  his  wife  was  concerned,  the  man  was  a  mono- 
maniac. 

And  now  he  saw  them  before  him,  she  leaning  on  his 
arm  ;  her  head  bent,  as  with  downcast  eyes  and  smiling 
lips  she  listened  to  his  low  words.  He  gnashed  his  teeth 
and  glared  upon  them  like  a  madman.  At  that  moment 
his  face  was  like  that  of  a  demon. 

There  was  no  dancing.  Mr.  Brantwell  was  a  clergyman 
and  did  not  approve  of  it ;  but  there  was  music,  and,  as 
if  to  excite  his  jealous  soul  to  madness.  Captain  Campbell 
led  Laura  to  the  piano,  and  hung  over  her,  while  she 
glanced  slyly  at  him  from  under  her  long  locks,  and  sang: 
*'  Oh,  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own,"  as 
though  every  word  was  meant  for  him  alone. 

Loud  and  long  was  the  applause  which  followed.     And 


SELF-TORTURE. 


117 


then  Captain  Campbell  led  her  to  a  seat  and  took  aiiotlnT 
heHi<ie  her,  and  this  low  conversation  was  resumed. 

Full  of  jealous  rage  the  self-tortured  Court lu'y  watehed 
them,  until,  at  the  end  of  a!i  hour  or  so,  lie  saw  Captain 
Campbell  rise  and  leave  her  alone  for  a  moment.  Theti 
going  over,  and  seeing  all  were  too  much  engiiged  by  some 
one  who  was  si  'ging  to  notice  him,  lutgraspeil  her  liereely 
by  the  arm,  saying  in  a  ho;irse  whis[)cr  : 

*'  >radam,  do  vou  mean  to  drive  me  mad  ?  " 

*'No  need  ;  you  arc  that  already,"  said  Mrs.  Courttiey, 
startled  out  of  a  reverie  she  had  fallen  into,  but  instantly 
remembering  to  bo  ])rovoking." 

"  liy  heavens  !     1  shall  make  you  repent  (Lis  conduct.'* 

*'  llusii-sh  I     You  mustn't  speak  so  loud,  my  dear." 

'*]\lrs.  Courtney,  will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean  by 
permitting  the  attentions  of  this  puppy  ?  "  he  said,  elonch- 
ing  his  teeth  to  keep  down  his  passion. 

"  I'uppy  I  I  am  sur})rised  at  your  want  of  taste,  Mr. 
Courtnev  I     lie's  as  handsome  as  A])ollo  !" 

*' Ah-ii!" 

It  was  like  a  groan  from  a  sepulcher,  that  deep,  hollow 
aspiration  from  his  labored  chest,  lie  looked  really  a 
pitiable  object  as  he  sat  there,  white,  ghastly  and  rigid. 
It  touched  with  remorse  his  wife's  hcjirt  ;  and,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  she  said,  more  seriously  : 

"  Edgar,  don't  be  absurd  !  Positively  you  are  as  jealous 
as  a  Turk.  I  wish  to  goodness  you  wouldn't  make  your- 
self ridiculous  this  way  !  " 

"  Laura,  come  away." 

*'  Come  away  !     Where  ?  " 

*'  Out  of  this — any  place — to  the  island  again." 

"Nonsense,  Mr.  Courtney  !  What  an  idea  !  I  haven'fc 
the  slightest  intention  of  going  away  these  two  hours  !  It 
is  very  pleasant  here  !  " 

"  liOrd,  I  am  miserable  in  it  ! " 

''That's  because,  like  little  Jack  Horner,  you  'sit  in 
the  corner,'  instead  of  mingling  with  the  rest.  I've  seen 
some  of  the  people  looking  at  you  as  if  they  thought  you 
were  crazy." 

"I  shall  be  if  you  continue  this  conduct  mucli  longer.'* 

No  one  could  look  in  the  pale,  haggard  face  and  doubt 
the  truth  of  his  words.  But  Mrs.  Courtney  lost  all 
patience. 


,.J^ 


% 


l: 


118 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"  What,  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints,  have  I  done  ?" 
she  burst  out,  angrily.  "  My  own  husband  sits  up  like 
a  living  automaton  in  a  dark  corner,  and  pays  no  more  at- 
tention than  if  there  wasn't  such  a  pretty  little  person  as 
Mrs.  Courtney  in  existence  ;  and  because  another  gentle- 
man, who  has  better  taste,  and  doesn't  wish  to  see  me 
pining  to  death  in  solitude,  pays  me  a  few  trifling  atten- 
tions here,  you  come  making  as  much  fuss  as  if  I  was 
going  to  elope  with  him  to-morrow.  I  declare  I  will,  too, 
if  you  don't  let  me  alone." 

**  You  will  !"  And  the  hollow  eyes  glared  like  those 
of  a  maniac  ,  even  the  taunting  little  wife  quailed  before  it. 

''  Ugh  !  *  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  ! ' 
what  a  look  that  was  !  Really  Mr.  Courtney,  you  are  a 
ghoul,  a  vampire — a  vandal,  a  Goth  !  You'll  scare  the 
life  out  of  me  some  day,  if  you  don't  take  care.  I  wish  to 
mercy  you  could  be  a  little  more  reasonable,  and  not  make 
such  a  goose  of  yourself ! "  said  Mrs.  Courtney,  edging 
away  from  him. 

"  Take  care,  madam  ;  it  is  not  safe  to  trifle  with  me  !" 

"  Well,  who  in  the  name  of  mercy  is  trifling  with  you  ? 
Not  I,  I'm  sure.  AnH  now,  Mr  Courtney,  here  comes 
Captain  Campbell  ;  and  do — for  goodness'  sake — drop  this 
subject,  and  don't  make  a  laughing-stock  of  yourself  and 
me,  too<  What  under  the  sun  would  the  man  think,  if 
he  heard  you  ?  " 

*'Do  not  fear,  Mrs.  Courtney;  I  will  not  interrupt 
your  t^te-a-tete  with  the  g.  ilant  captain,"  said  her  hus- 
band, rising,  with  a  ghastly  smile.  *'  I  leave  you  to  his 
care,  satisfied  you  will  make  the  best  possible  use  of  your 
time." 

*' That  I  will,"  said  his  irritated  spouse,  turning  her 
back,  indignantly,  to  him,  and  greeting  Captain  Campbell 
with  her  brightest  smile. 

Tlius,  in  tliat  scene  of  gaiety,  there  were  at  least  two 
tempest-tossed,  jealous,  passionate  hearts — Edgar  Court- 
ney and  Sybil  Campbell. 

All  the  evening  she  had  watched  the  door  with  burning, 
feverish   impatience.     Why,   oh  !  why  did  he  not  come  ? 

Her  heart  was  swelling,  throbbing,  as  if  it  would  escape 
from  its  frail  tenement ;  she  was  growing  wild,  mad,  with 
impatience  and  excitement.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  her 
watching,  he  had  entered  unobserved  by  her. 


P>J 


FALSEHOOD  AND  DECEIT. 


119 


<  i 


At  last,  wrought  up  to  an  uncontrollable  pitch  of  ex- 
citement that  was  be,<;inninp^  to  betray  itself  in  every 
feverisli  action,  she  lied  from  the  crowd  tliat  surrounded 
her,  only  anxious  to  be  alone — feeliuix  half  crazed  with 
her  throbbiui^  head  and  brow.  A  conservatory,  cool, 
shady  and  deserlei'i,  wa?;  near.  ]lither  slu^  went,  and, 
pushing  o})en  the  door,  entered.  A  man  stood  revealed 
under  the  light  of  the  chandelier.  With  a  suppressed  cry 
of  mingled  surprise  and  fierce  joy,  she  stepped  back,  and 
Svbil  and  her  false  lover  stood  lace  to  face. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FALSEHOOD   AND    DECEIT. 


"  Ah  I  what  a  tangled  web  to  weave, 
When  first  we  practise  to  deceive.'" 


—Scott. 


There  was  a  moment's  profound  silence,  while  they 
stood  tliere  confronting  each  other. 

Witli  a  face  perfectly  white,  with  b^'^zing  eyes  and  rigid 
lips,  Sybil,  majestic  in  her  wrongs,  stood  erect  before  him, 
her  form  drawn  up  to  its  fullest  height,  her  head  thrown 
back,  her  pale  face  looking  unnaturally  white  in  contrast 
with  her  dark  hair,  like  some  tragic  queen  in  her  festal 
robes.  All  his  fah^ehood,  treachery  and  deceit — all  her 
own  wrongs,  her  slighted  love,  her  deep  humiliation, 
rushed  in  a  burning  torrent  through  her  mind,  filling  her 
heart  and  soul  with  one  consuming  longing  for  vengeance, 
until  she  seemed  to  tower  above  him,  regal  in  her  woman's 
scorn  and  hate. 

And  he,  knowing  his  guilt,  feeling,  too,  tliat  she  knew 
it,  he  momentarily  quailed  before  the  dark,  fierce  glance 
bent  upon  him.  It  was  but  for  a  moment,  and  then  all 
his  self-possession  and  graceful  ease  of  mainier  returned, 
mingled  with  a  feeling  of  intense  admiration  for  the  darkly 
beautiful  girl  before  him. 

He  had  never  seen  her  before,  save  in  her  odd,  gvpsyish 
dress  ;  but  now,  in  her  rich,  elegant  robes,  she  looked 
another  being.  And  with  it  came  another  rcelation. 
Underlying  all  his  short-lived  passion  for  Christie  was 
still  the  old   affection   for  this  queenly   Sybil.     He   had 


T\ 


13    < 


120 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I 


wooed  her  as  a  dowerless  bride,  but  now  she  stood  before 
him  the  heiress  to  a  princely  fortune,  equal  to  his  own. 
Willard  Drummond  was  ambitious.  He  knew  this  beauty 
and  heiress  would  be  sought  for  now  by  the  best  men 
of  the  day,  and  he  felt  what  a  proud  triumph  it  would  be 
to  bear  her  off  from  all. 

"Yes,"  he  said  inwardly,  "this  beautiful  Sybil,  this 
regal  Queen  of  the  Isle,  shall  still  be  mine.  I  iuive  com- 
menced a  desperate  game,  but  the  end  is  not  yet  ! " 

And  all  this  had  passed  througii  the  minds  of  both  in 
far  less  time  than  it  has  taken  me  to  describe  it. 

Drummond  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence,  which 
was  growing  embarrassing 

''  My  own  Sybil,"  he  said,  advancing,  and  attempting 
to  take  her  hand  "  I  began  to  fear  we  were  destined 
never  to  meet  more.  Has  this  new  freak  of  Dame  Fortune 
made  you  forget  all  your  old  friends  ?" 

"  Back,  sir  !  "  she  thundered,  in  a  terrible  vjice.  '^Do 
you  dare  io  speak  to  me  like  this  !  Oh,  man  !  false  and 
perjured  !  Does  not  your  craven  soul  shrink  to  the  dust 
before  the  woman  you  have  wronged  ?" 

"Sybil,  you  are  nuid  !"  he  cried,  impetuously. 

"Mad  !  Oh,  would  to  heaven  I  were  !  Tlien,  perhaps, 
this  achins^  heart  would  not  suffer  the  tortures  that  it 
does.  Mad  ?  It  would  be  well  for  you  if  I  were  ;  but  I 
am  sane  enough  yet  to  live  for  vengeance  on  you." 

"  Sybil  !  Sybil  !  you  rave.  In  heaven's  name,  what 
have  i  done  ?" 

"  Done  !  oh,  falsest  of  the  false  !  Hjive  you  the  brazen 
effrontery  to  stand  before  me  and  ask  such  a  question  as 
that  ?  Done  !  That  which  a  lifetime  can  never  rej)air. 
May  heaven's  worst  curses  light  on  you  fur  what  you  iiave 
<lone  !" 

He  almost  shrank  before  that  white,  terrible  face,  that 
corrugated  brow,  those  lightning  eyes,  those  white,  cold 
lips,  that  mingled  look  of  hatred  and  utter  desolation  her 
beautiful  countenance  wore. 

He  had  expected  passionate  reproaches,  vehement  ac- 
cusations, but  nothing  like  this.  Yet  he  knew,  he  felt  he 
<leserved  it  all  ;  never  had  his  crime  a])peared  to  him  in 
such  glaring  colors  before.  But  outwardly  he  still  showed 
no  sign  of  guilt,  only  grave  surprise  and  offended  pride. 

"Miss   Campbell,"    he  said,  folding  his  arms  coldly. 


4 


FALSEHOOD  AND  DECEIT. 


121 


ur. 
live 


ac- 
he 
in 

ved 


**you  are  crazed.  Wiieii  you  recover  your  senses,  perhaps 
yoii  will  deign  an  explanation  of  your  conduct.  At  i)resent 
you  will  excuse  me  if  1  put  an  end  to  this  interview — it  is 
too  painful  to  be  prolonged." 

lie  turned,  as  if  to  leave  her,  bui  she  sprang  forward 
a'd  intercepted  him. 

'*  Dare  to  leave  me  !"  she  cried,  passionately.  *'  Never 
shall  you  qui*^  this  room  until  you  hear  the  vengeance 
a  Campbell  can  take  for  a  wrong  Und  deadly  insult. 
Crazed,  am  I  ?  Oh,  you  will  find  out,  to  your  cost,  there 
is  method  in  my  nuidness,  before  Jiis  interview  ends. 
You  find  it  [)ainful,  do  you  !  lla  !  ha  !  take  care  you  do 
not  find  it  more  so  before  we  part ! " 

Slie  pusiied  tlie  thick,  clustering,  black  hair  back  off 
her  brow,  and  laughed  a  wild,  'utLor  laugh. 

'Miood  heavens  I  she  looks  as  though  she  really  wero 
mad  I "  thought  Willard,  with  a  shudder  at  that  hollow, 
nnearthly  laugh.  ''  I  always  knew  her  to  be  a  wild,  fiery, 
pM.ssionate  girl,  but  I  never  dreamed  of  anytliing  like  this. 
What,  in  her  frenzy,  may  she  not  dare  to  do  ? — for  verily, 
slie  comes  of  a  daring  race.  Oh,  Ciiristie  !  Christie ! 
what  a  storm  of  passion  have  I  raised  for  your  sake  !" 

*' So  I  can  make  you  start  and  shrink  already!"  ex- 
claimed Sybil,  with  fierce  exultation.  "Oh,  you  will  find 
out  what  it  is  to  drive  Sybil  Campbell  to  desperation  I  So 
you  tliouglit  you  could  make  me  your  plaything  for  an 
hour,  and  then  throw  me  aside  for  the  first  new  face  you 
encountered.  Oh,  potent,  wise  and  farseeing  Willard 
Drummond  !  what  a  judge  of  character  thou  art  I  " 

Her  bitter  mockery  was  worse  than  her  first  fierce  out- 
burst of  passion,  aiul  there  was  a  terrible  menace  lurking 
yet  in  her  gleaming  black  eyes. 

But  Willard  stood  looking  on,  still  unmoved,  only 
amazed,  as  he  stood,  with  one  hand  resting  lightly  on  the 
table,  looking  her  full  in  the  eye  with  cold  iuiuteur. 

That  concentrated  gaze  liad  on  her  the  effect  of  mes- 
merism. Her  mood  changed,  and  she  broke  forth  in  a 
strain  of  passionate  solemnity  : 

'^  Oh,  my  soul  I  was  it  for  this  I  poured  out  such  price- 
less treasures  of  love  nt  this  man's  feet  ?  Was  it  for  this 
I  forgot  God  to  worship  him  ?  Was  it  for  this  that  I 
would  have  given  my  soul  to  perdition  that  his  might  be 
saved  ?     Was  it  for  this  I  would  have  devoted  my  life. 


iiwMm  )■ 


\n  ■) 


ft  ■; 


122 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  JSLE. 


with  a,ll  its  bi^ii  liopo  jiiid  aspirations,  all  tliat  I  was,  all 
that  I  might  ]>ccoriio,  to  make  liini  hapjiy  ?  Was  it  for 
tliis  tluit  I  t!ioii<;"]it  of  hini  day  uiu1  iii;j:lit,  sleepin;^'  and 
waking  ?  Was  it  for  a  rciturii  like  this  that  I  would  have 
given  my  voi'y  life  blood  to  ireo  him  from  all  pain  ?  Oh, 
this  heart — this  heart  I  Oh,  my  lost  faith  I  my  blasted 
hopes  !  my  ruined  life  !  Wealth,  and  youth,  and  beauty 
were  gifted  to  me,  but  what  are  they  worth,  when  all  is 
desolation  here  ?  " 

She  struck  lier  breast  with  her  clenched  hand,  and 
dropping  into  a  scat,  her  arms  fell  upon  the  table,  and 
her  grief-ljouHMi  young  head  dropped  heavily  upon  them. 

The  dead  silence  that  for  an  instant  followed  her  vehe- 
ment outburst  was  like  a  sudden  lull  in  a  furious  storm 
when  the  >;|)irit  of  the  tempest  pauses  for  a  moment  and 
breaks  foril    in  redoubled  furv. 

"Sybil!" 

Soft,  low  a!id  gentle,  like  oil  poured  upon  troubled 
waves,  came  the  voice  of  Willard  Drummond  to  her  pas- 
sion-tossed heart,  that  voice  which,  in  spite  of  all,  was 
still  dearer  to  her  than  all  the  world  betides. 

Only  a  convulsive  shiver,  a  fierce graspiiig of  her  breast, 
as  though  she  would  tear  from  it  the  unspeakable  gnawing 
of  her  agony,  but  no  reply. 

"  Dearest  Svbil  1" 

Ho  came  over,  and,  folding  her  in  his  arms,  bent  over 
her  till  his  face  rested  on  her  silken  hair. 

"Oh,  Willard  I"  she  cried,  looking  suddenly  np,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  piercing  anguish,  "  why  did  you  de- 
ceive me  so  ?  " 

"  Sybil,  speak  and  tell  me  what  you  mean.  As  heaven 
hears  me,  I  have  not  deceived  you.  I  love  you  still  as  I 
have  always  loved  you  ! '^ 

"  Oh,  if  I  might  believe  it !"  she  said,  dashing  back  the 
falling  hair  off  her  pallid  brow,  "if  I  dared  to  dream  that 
you  s})oke  the  truth.  But  no,  no!''  she  cried,  springing 
up  and  freeing  herself  from  iiis  clasp.  "  It  is  ftilse — it  ia 
false  as  your  own  false  heart  !  Listen,  and  let  the  name 
blight  v<>u  where  vou  stand — what  of  Christie  ?" 

Her  mcmuMiig  eyes  were  glaring  upon  him,  as  though 
she  would  read  his  very  soul  ;  Ijut,  prepared  for  hor 
question,  he  neither  started  nor  betrayed  the  slightest 
emotion. 


'Ui 


FALSEHOOD  AND  DECEIT. 


123 


*' Christie,  the  island  girl — what  of  her?"  he  asked, 
qnietly. 

"  What  of  her  ?  Man  !  man  !  you  will  drive  me  mad. 
Do  you  not  love  her  ?  " 

*'  Love  her  !  that  little,  uncultured  child  !  Sybil,  you 
have  lost  your  reason,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  well-fei.ii^ned 
snrprise  and  indignation.  '*  What  drove  such  an  absurd 
thought  into  your  head  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  she  told  me  so — she  told  me  so,"  wailed  Sybil, 
pressing  her  hands  to  her  throbbing  temples. 

'^  Impossible  !  you  must  have  dreamed  it,  Sybil.  She 
never  could  have  told  you  anything  like  that." 

"  She  did  ;  and  I  could  have  slain  her  where  she  stood 
for  the  words  ;  but  she  said  them.  And,  Willard  Drum- 
mond,  do  not  deny  it.     It  is  true  ! " 

*' It  is  n't  true,"  he  answered,  boldly,  though,  for  the 
first  time  during  the  interview,  his  dark  cheeks  grew 
crimson  with  shame. 

*Mt  is  true — it  must  be.  She  would  not  have  said  it 
else.  Oh,  there  was  truth  in  her  face  as  she  spoke,  and 
there  is  guilt  in  yours  now.  Willard  Drummond,  take 
care  !  1  am  desperate,  and  it  is  at  your  peril  that  you 
dare  to  trifle  with  me  now." 

*' And  so  you  believe  this  island  girl  rather  than  me! 
Be  it  so,  Sybil  ;  if  you  have  no  more  faitli  in  me  tliun  this, 
it  is  better  that  we  never  see  each  other  more,"  he  said, 
in  a  deeply  offended  tone. 

''  And  do  you  tell  me,  really  and  truly,  that  you  never 
wavered  in  your  allegiance  to  me — never  for  a  moment 
thouglit  of  ajiy  one  else — never  for  one  second  gave  another 
the  place  in  your  heart  I  should  have  occupied — never 
was  false  to  your  vows,  to  your  honor,  to  me  ?  " 

"Never,  Sybil." 

'SS wear  it." 

*'  I  swear  !  " 

"Oh  !  which  aui  I  to  believe?  Oh,  Willard  !  if  yon 
are  deceiving  me  now,  may  heaven's  worst  vengeance  fall 
upon  you  !  Do  not  on  your  soul's  peril  dare  to  speak 
falsely  to  me  ;  for  it  were  better  for  you  to  trifle  with  the 
lightning's  chain  than  with  this  aroused  heart." 

"  Still  doubting  !  have  you  lost  all  faith  in  me,  Sybil  ?" 
he  asked,  reproaclvfully. 

"  Would  to  heaven  1  had  never  had  occasion  to  doubt  I 


124 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


But  your  own  actions  are  all  against  you.  Why  f'.id  you 
so  continually  seek  her  society  while  on  the  island  ? 
How  are  your  long  rambles  together,  your  moonlight  sails, 
your    solitary  interviews  to  be  explained  !  " 

"  Very  easily.  Your  brotlier  left  me — you  were  absent, 
and  I  was  alone  on  the  island,  and  society  is  a  necessity 
of  my  nature.  You  would  not  have  me  spend  the  day 
■with  your  old  negress,  or  her  son,  Mrs.  Tom,  or  the  nephew. 
The  child,  Christie,  was  bright,  intelligent  aiul  sociable  ; 
she  pleased  and  interested  me,  and  in  my  walks  through 
the  island,  we  frequently  met.  I  was  fond  of  sailing,  so 
was  she  ;  and  what  so  natural  as  that  I  should  some- 
times ask  her  to  accompany  me  ?  " 

"  Plausible,  but  why  did  you  not  seek  me  ?  I  was  not 
far  distant  from  you,  a  good  part  of  the  time,  and  would 
have  been  more  than  delighted  to  see  you  every  day." 

"  Well,  if  I  must  confess  it,  Sybil,  1  was  somewhat 
piqued  that  you  should  have  gone  away  at  all,  and  I  wished 
to  let  you  know  it  by  my  absence.  Perhaps  it  was  very 
unreasonable  on  my  part,  but  loving  you  as  devotedly  as  I 
did,  I  felt  your  abrupt  absence  far  more  than  you  are  dis- 
posed to  give  me  credit  for." 

''But,  when  alone,  why  were  you  ever  talking  of 
Christie  ?  If  she  had  not  been  continually  in  your  thoughts, 
her  name  would  not  have  been  so  frequently  on  vour 
lips." 

''  Still  jealous.  Oh,  Sybil,  hard  to  be  convinced  !  I 
did  not  talk  of  her." 

"  You  did  ;  for  Aunt  Moll  heard  you." 

'^  Saints  and  angels  !  was  ever  man  in  the  dilemma  I 
am  in  ?  Even  an  old,  half-deaf  negress  is  believed  sooner 
than  I  !  Sybil,  I  never  talk  to  myself.  Aunt  Moll  has 
seen  me  with  this  island  girl — whom  I  wish  to  heaven  I 
had  never  met — and  has  fancied,  perhaps,  1  spoke  of  her. 
Oh,  Sybil  !  Sybil  !  by  your  dark,  doubting  look,  I  see 
you  are  unbelieving  still.     What  shall  I  do,  or  say,  to  con- 


vince you 


V 


''  Oh  !  I  do  not  know  !  I  do  not  know  !  Heaven  direct 
me  !"  said  Sybil,  pacing  up  and  down  ;  ''  I  want  to  be- 
lieve you,  but  I  cannot  get  rid  of  those  doubts.  Willard, 
once  our  faith  in  those  we  love  and  trust  is  shaken,  it  is 
very  hard  to  be  renewed.  There  were  truth  and  earnest- 
ness iu  that  girl's  eyes,  when  she  spoke — more,  there  was. 


of 


I  as 


see 


Ird, 
is 
?st- 
raa 


I 


FALSEHOOD  AND  DECEIT. 


125 


love  for  yon.     Whether  or  not  you  love,  or  have  loved  her, 
one  thing  is  certain,  you  have  taught  her  to  love  you." 

*'  I  have  not  tauglit  her,  Sybil,  nor  am  I  to  blame  for  her 
childish  fancies.  Even  if  she  does  care  for  me,  which  is 
doubtful,  it  is  a  sisterly  atlcction — notiiiug  more." 

**  I  am  not  blind,  Wilhird  ;  it  was  no  sisterly  affection 
I  read  in  those  soft,  pleading  eyes — it  was  strong,  unchang- 
ing, undvinglove  !  Oh,  Willard  !  what  if  you  are  deceiving 
us  both  ?  "  . 

**  Sybil,  this  is  too  much.  I  will  not  endure  those 
doubts.  You  do  not  love  me  as  you  say  you  do,  or  you 
would  have  more  faitli  in  me.  If  you  believe  I  could  so 
forget  my  vows  to  you,  my  honor,  my  plighted  faith,  for 
this  little  artless  child,  then  it  were  better  we  should 
forever  part,  than  live  in  doubt  ami  jealousy.  Do  you 
think  I  could  endure  these  constant  recriminations,  these 
stormy  scenes,  these  violent  outbursts  of  passion  ?  Sybil, 
it  is  beneath  you  to  stoop  to  the  mean,  low  passion  of 
jealousy.  I  thought  you  had  too  much  pride  and  self- 
respect  to  think  any  one,  how  beautiful  and  enirancing 
soever,  could  surpass  you.  And  certainly  you  pay  a  very 
poor  compliment  to  my  taste,  in  supposing  I  could  fall  in 
love  with  an  illiterate,  uneducated  child  of  fifteen,  simply 
because  she  has  a  passably  pretty  face.  Sybil,  you  are  sur- 
passingly beautiful,  and  I  have  to-night  seen  gentlemen 
who,  I  am  sure,  were  fascinated  by  you,  hovering  the  whole 
evening  by  your  side,  while  you  seemed  to  have  eyes  and 
ears  for  no  one  but  them,  yet  it  never  once  entered  my 
mind  to  doubt  you,  or  be  in  the  slightest  degree  jealous." 

"Yes — yes  ;  I  talked  and  laughed  with  them,' but  oh  ! 
if  you  had  known  how  every  thought  and  feeling  of  ray 
whole  heart,  and  soul  and  mind  were  with  you  all  the 
time  ! — if  you  had  but  dreamed  of  the  insufferable  agony 
at  my  heart  all  the  while,  you  would  have  felt  how  little 
cause  you  could  have  had  for  jealousy." 

"I  knew  nothing  of  this,  Sybil;  and  yet  not  for  one 
fraction  of  a  second  did  the  slightest,  faintest  doubt  of 
you  enter  my  mind.  Oh,  Sybil — Sybil  !  when  will  you 
have  faith  like  this  in  me  ? ' 

^'  Now — forever  !  Oh,  Willard  I  I  must  believe,  I  do 
believe,  and  I  will  never  doubt  you  more,"  said  Sybil,  her 
beautiful  face  growing  radiant  with  new  hope  ;  "  if  I 
judged  you  rashly,  at  least  I  have  atoned  for  it ;  for  never 


ill III < 


:lliil« 


126 


THE  QUEEN"  01  THE  ISLE. 


while  you  live  can  you  dream  of  all  I  have  endured  for 
your  sake.  Oh,  Willard  !  with  your  cool  nature,  and 
calmly  pulsating  heart,  you  can  never  form  any  idea  of 
the  passionate  heart  throbhing  here,  of  the  liery  hlood 
that  has  descended  to  nie  from  a  fiery  race.  Oh,  AVillard  I 
for  all  my  unjust  doubts  and  susi)icions  and  accusati' iis, 
can  you  ever  forgive  me  ?  " 

lie  had  borne  her  frenzied  outbursts  of  passion,  her 
Ijitter,  withering  sarcasm,  her  utter  woe  and  desolation 
calmly  enough,  but  now  her  renewed  hopes  and  trust  and 
confidence,  pierced  to  his  very  lie;irt.  lie  felt  the  blood 
rush  to  liis  very  tem])les,  but  her  head  was  bent  on  his 
shoulder  and  she  did  not  observe  it.  llow  intensely  in 
that  moment  did  hs  des})ise  himself  and  this  necessity  of 
Iving,  whi(;h  his  own  fault  had  created  !  Without  think- 
ing  of  the  guilt,  as  a  gentleman  he  felt  himself  degraded 
by  a  falsehood — something  which  ho  had  never  hitherto 
stained  his  lips  with.  And  yet,  in  the  last  hour  how  low 
ho  had  sunk  !  A'erily,  in  that  moment  he  felt  ''  the  way 
of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 

But  Sybil  Campbell,  loving  and  hating  alike  with  utter 
abandon — going  from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  without 
knowing  what  a  medium  meant — knew  nothing  of  the 
thoughts  that  set  the  heart  she  prized,  even  above  her 
hopes  of  heaven,  beating  so  tumultuously  against  her 
own.  Casting  all  doubt  to  the  winds,  resolving  she  would 
not  believe  him  guilty — the  delicious  joy  of  knowing  and 
believing  she  was  still  beloved  filled  her  heart.  And  so 
for  the  present  she  gave  herself  wholly  up  to  this  new  hap- 
piness. But  how  long  was  this  delicious  joy  destined  to 
last  ? 


I 


•;;  '':\  'i 


1,1 


1  ' 


A  LULL  BEFORE  TUE  TEMPEST. 


127 


so 

ip- 

to 


CHAPTER    XVIL 


A  LULL  15i:f()ui:  the  tkmpest. 

"  Wo  hold  our  greyhound  in  our  hand, 

Our  falcon  on  our  kIovc  ; 
But  whcni  shall  we  find  loasli  or  baud 
For  dauio  that  loves  to  rove  t  " 


—Scott. 


"Now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Courtney,  you  really  must  not 
think  of  goini,^  back  to  the  island  anymore.  Sybil  is  going 
to  remain  witii  me  for  a  week  or  two  longer,  and  you  })osi- 
tively  must  stay,  for  let  me  tell  you,  1  have  taken  a  des- 
perate fancy  to  you  during  the  last  few  hours.  Tlien, 
too,  Sybil,  poor  child  I  has  seemed  ill  and  out  of  spirits 
for  tlie  past  few  days — and  the  presence  of  your  lively  little 
ladyship  M'ill  tend  to  restore  her  to  cheerfulness  again. 
So,  Mrs.  Courtney,  you  will  just  consider  it  settled  ;  and 
yourself  and  husband  must  remain  my  guests  for  the 
present." 

The  company  were  already  dispersing,  and  ^Irs.  Court- 
ney, on  going  to  take  leave  of  her  hostess,  had  listened  to 
the  above  harangue. 

''  But,  Mr.  Courtney "  she  began,  rather  hesitatingly. 

'^  He  will  not  object,  my  dear  I  "'  broke  in  Mrs.  Ih-ant- 
well,  who  was  comfortably  reposing  in  a  large  armchair. 
*'  He  is  looking  ill  yet,  and  I  don't  believe  his  wound  has 
been  half  attended  to.  Just  go  and  tell  him  that  I  sny 
ho  must  stav.  I  would  go  iiivself.  op.lv  there  is  a  crowd 
here  waiting  to  take  their  leave  and  make  their  adieux. 
Mrs.  C  nirtney,  it's  not  possible? — yon  do  not  hesitate. 
What  ^.irthly  attraction  can  there  be  for  you  in  that 
dretiry  little  isle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Brantwell  I  it's  not  that  ;  indeed  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  accept  your  kind  offer;  but  ]\Ir.  Courtney  is 
sometimes  so  queer,  and  has  such  strange  notions  about 
intruding  on  people,  that  I  do  not  know " 

"  Intrude  I Xonsense  !  interrupted   Mrs.  Brantwell. 

*'  I'm  sure  there's  nobody  in  this  world  as  fond  of  society 
as  I  am.     I'd  always  have  the  house  full  of  young   people 


'\  l> 


128 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


if  I  could.  There,  now,  run  away,  like  a  good  litte  woman, 
and  tell  your  husband  tliat  I  positively  will  not  hear  of  his 
going.  Come,  he  olf  ;  here  is  Mr.  StiilTord  waiting  to  bid 
ine  good-by,  und  I  never  care  to  kec])  a  young  gentleman 
waiting — especiially  such  a  good-looking  one  ;  though  I 
don't  know  whjit  >[r.  lirantwell  wouhl  say  about  that!" 
And  Mrs.  Brantwcll  gave  Laura  a  facetious  poke  in  the 
ribs,  and  went  olf  intoono  of  her  mellow  laughs. 

Liwardly  delighted  at  Mrs.  l^rantwell's  invitation,  which 
gave  promise  of  much  pleasure,  Laura  went  in  search  of 
her  husband,  fully  determined  to  accept  it,  whether  that 
unreasonable  individual  liked  it  or  not. 

She  found  him  waiting  for  her  in  the  anteroom,  all 
ready  for  starting. 

"What  has  delayed  you  so  long?"  he  asked,  sharply. 
*' I  have  been  waiting  here  this  half  hour.  I  have  sent 
one  of  the  servants  to  hire  a  cub  to  take  us  over  to  AVest- 
port — where  for  the  j^rcscnt  we  can  engtige  lodgings 
instead  of  returning  to  Cami>»ljeirs  Lsle — a  place  I 
never  want  to  see  again.  Come,  make  haste  and  get 
ready." 

"  There's  no  occasion,  for  I'm  not  going  to  leave." 

*^Not  going  to  leave  !  What  do  you  mean,  madam  ?" 
he  asked,  still  more  sharply. 

*'  What  I  say.  Are  you  really  crazy  enough,  Mr. 
Courtney,  to  think  I  would  undertake  a  ten  hours'  ride 
over  to  Westport,  after  being  up  all  night  ?  Catch  me  at 
it  I  I  have  too  much  regard  for  my  good  looks  to  under- 
take any  such  journey." 

"  Ah  !  you  wish  to  return  to  the  island  ! "  ho  said,  set- 
ting his  teeth  hard.  "  Captain  Campbell,  of  course,  will 
accotnpany  you  !" 

*'How  provoking  !  Every  Avord  I  say  is  converted  into 
food  for  jealousy.  No,  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  the 
island.  I'm  going  to  spend  a  week  here  with  Mrs. 
Brantwcll." 

"  You  shall  not  stay  here.  You  shall  come  with  me  to 
Westport." 

**  Shall  I,  indeed  !  They'll  have  sharp  eyes  who  will  see 
me  in  Westport  for  another  week,  at  least.  Come,  Edgar, 
have  sense,  and  stay  here  for  a  few  davs." 

"  Will  Captain  Campbell  be  here  ? '' 

**  Captain  Campbell  again  !     Oh,  grant  mc   patience ! 


'J » 


into 

the 

llrs. 

le  to 

see 
I2ar, 


ice 


I 


A  LULL  BEFORE  THE  TEMPEST. 


129 


How  do  I  know  wliether  he  will  be  liero  c  not  ? — I'm  sure 
I  lioj)e  lie  umy,  if  it'n  oiily  to  drive  yoii  crazy  ;  for  of  all 
the  absurd,  jculous  old  tyrai  ..s  thiit  ever  lived,  you're  the 
worst.  I  declare,  Mr.  Courtney,  you'i  i)rovokc  a  saiut; 
and  I  do  wish — Saint  Laura  forgive  lue — that  you  were 
safely  in  heaven.     There  now  I  " 

'•  Tak(^  care,  nia<hini  !"  he  said,  hoar>c]y  ;  '\your  ^ocxX 
wishes  are  pi'eruature.  Old  tyrant  as  i  am,  I  may  live 
long  enough  to  make  you  repent  this  language." 

"Take  care  of  what?  I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  Edgar 
Courtney  !  ''  she  said,  with  Hashing  eyes.  "  Don't  threat- 
en, or  you  nniy  drive  me  to  say  things  I  should  be  sorry 
for  afterward.'' 

'H)nce  for  all — will  you  come  with  me  to  Westport  ?" 

**  Once  for  all— no  '." 

"  Madam,  f  command  you  !  " 

**  Command  jiway  ;  I  sha'n't  budge  a  step  !  " 

*'  Mrs.  Courtney,  do  you  dare  to  brave  my  authority  ?  '* 

'*  Your  authority  I  It  isn't  the  first  time  1  have  braved 
it." 

"  Take  care  that  it  is  the  last  I  "  he  hissed,  with  gleam- 
ing eyes. 

"  Ugh  !  Don't  look  at  mo  that  way,"  said  Laura,  shud- 
dering involuntarily  at  his  unearthly  look  and  tone.  ''I 
declare,  if  you're  not  enough  to  scare  a  person  into  the 
fever  and  ague  !  What  a  scowl  !  Edgar  Courtney,  you're 
worse  than  Nero,  lleliogabulus,  Mohammed,  and  all  those 
other  nasty  old  fellows,  melted  into  one.  Now  I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  stay  here  with  ]Mrs.  l^rantwell,  whether 
you  like  it  or  not  ;  and  you  may  do  as  you  please,  for  all 
I  care.  Allow  me  to  wish  you  good  night,  and  a  pleasant 
journey  to  Westport."  And  turning  abruptly  round,  the 
indignant  little  lady  quitted  the  room,  leaving  her  spouse 
to  his  own  not  very  pleasant  reflections. 

The  company  by  this  time  had  nearly  all  departed. 
Drummond,  hat  in  hand,  stood  near  tlie  window,  talking 
in  low  tones  to  Sybil,  whose  face  was  now  bright,  radiant, 
unclouded.  Mr.  and  ^Irs.  Brantwell  were  still  holding  a 
parting  conversation  with  some  of  their  friends,  among 
whom  stood  young  Stafford,  watching  Mr.  Drummond 
with  a  ferocious  glance.  Captain  Campbell  stood  by  him- 
self, evidently  waiting  for  his  friend  to  accompany  him  to 
the  isle. 


f 


130 


rv 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


As  Mrs.  Courtiiuy  cntured,  Ik;  approiiclicd  liur,  saying, 
with  ii  siiiilo  : 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Courtney,  iiro  you  not  going  to  return  with 
us  to  the  ishiiid  ?'' 

"  Xo,  I  tiiink  not,"  said  Liiuru.  *'  I  have  arocptod  our 
kind  lioatt'ss'  invitation  to  nMiiain  with  lier  a  week.' 

'•  Well,  1  liavc  no  doubt  you  will  find  it  ijk'asiintcr  than 
our  loncsoinc!  islo,  though  we  ])oor  unfortu nates  loft  hidiind 
-will  fiiul  it  doubly  dreary,  now  that  it  is  deprived  of  your 
bright  presence." 

"Flatterer — ilattery  !  I  don't  believe  I'll  ever  be  missed. 
You  must  remember  me  to  good  Mrs.  Tom,  her  i)retty 
iiieeo,  Christie,  and  that  ill-treated  youth,  Mr.  Carl 
Henley." 

''Your  liumblc  servant  liears  but  to  obey.  But,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Courtney,  you  must  not  desert  us  altogether. 
"Will  you  not  visit  the  island  some  day  in  the  course  of  the 
week  ?  " 

"Perhaps  I  may;  indeed,  it's  very  likely  I  sluill.  I 
want  to  see  i\[rs.  Tom  before  I  start  for  home  ;  so,  if  I  can 
prevail  on  Miss  Campbell  to  accompany  me,  your  island 
will  be  ))lessed  with  my  '  bi-ight  presence'  once  more." 

"  A  blessing  for  which  we  shall  be  duly  grateful,"  said 
Captain  Campbell,  gaily  ;  "so  just  name  the  day  I  shall 
have  the  happiness  of  coming  lor  you,  and  I  shall  safely 
convey  you,  "over  the  sea  in  my  fairy  bai'k.'" 

"  Why,  Captain  Campbell,  how  distressingly  poetical  you 
are  getting  I"  said   Laura,  laughing.     "Well,   let's  see. 
This  is  Tuesday,  isn't  it  ?     Then,  I  think,  I  will  go  on 
Thursday — day  after  to-morrow." 

"Very  well  ;  on  that  day  I  shall  have  the  happiness  of 
coming  for  you.     Until  then,  adieu." 

"  Good-by,  Captain  Campbell,"  said  Mrs.  Courtney, 
holding  out  her  hand. 

As  she  spoke,  a  slight  noise  behind  her  made  her  turn 
abruptly  round  ;  and  she  almost  slirieked  aloud,  as  she  be- 
hold her  husband — white,  ghastly  and  haggard — standing, 
like  a  galvanized  cor})se,  by  her  side,  lie  had  entered 
unobserved,  and  approached  them  in  time  to  hear  their 
last  words — to  hear  them  make  an  appointment. 

What  other  proof  of  her  guilt  did  he  require  ?  His 
worst  suspicions  were,  of  course,  confirmed.  Oh  !  terrible 
was  the  look  his  face  wore  at  that  moment !    Without  a 


1 

^ 


i 


K 


A  LULL  IJKFORE  TIIK  TKMPi:S'L\ 


I'M 


Ley, 

urn 
be- 

red 
icir 

His 
ible 
.t  % 


word,  hu  tiiriic'd  away  and  walked  to  tlic  rariliur  cud  of  tlio 


room. 


Startled,  sliockecl  and  sick  with  nmU'lined  !i}>|)rehensioii, 
Laura  livmed  a,i;";iiiisi  the  taljh;  for  sii[)})ort.  Captain 
(,';uu|)hr!r,i  eyes  followed  the  jealous  husband,  with  a  look 
that  s;iid  plainly  as  words  :  "  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  " 

*'  Vou  are  ill,  Mrs.  C  ourtuey,"  he  said,  noticing  with 
alarm   her  sudden   faintnuss-     **  Allow   nio   to  ring  for  a 


•J  •> 


glass  of  water  ? 

'*  Xo,  no!  It  is  nothing,"  she  snid,  passing  her  hand 
across  her  brow,  as  if  to  dispel  a  misL.  "  .Nothing  what- 
ever," she  ad»led,  rising,  and  forcing  a  smile,  as  she  saw 
his  anxious  look.     "  lOxcuso  me.     (iood-night." 

She  hastened  away  :  and  Ca})tain  Campbell,  after  a 
moment's  won<b'ring  [)ause,  approaclu'd  the  spot  where 
Wilbird  and  Sybil  stood,  and  touching  him  on  the  shoulder, 
said,  somewhat  impatiently  : 

*'  Come,  Drnmmond,  it's  time  we  were  oil',  if  we  go  at 
all.  Even  as  it  is,  it  will  be  sunrise  before  we  reach  tho 
island." 

In  spite  of  all  her  elTorts,  a  cloud  fell  on  SybiFs  sunny 
brow  at  his  words.  The  (b^non  of  doubt  was  not  yet 
wholly  exo"oised.  The  island  I — the  name  grated  harsldy 
on  her  ear,  for  Christie  was  there. 

Willard  Drummond  saw  it,  and  his  resolution  was  taken. 
He  felt  it  would  not  do  to  return  to  the  island  just  now. 

"1  regret  having  kept  you  waiting,''  he  said,  gravely  ; 
*'  but  I  do  not  intend  going  to  the  island  just  yet.'' 

A  radiant  glance  from  Sybil's  beautiful  eyes  repaid  him 
for  the  words.      But  Captain  Campbell  was  amazed. 

"Not  return  I  Why,  what's  in  your  head  now,  Drnm- 
mond ?     Where  are  you  going  ?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"  For  the  present,  I  shall  stay  here.'' 

"  Here,  at  Mr.  Brantwell's  ?'" 

"  Xo  ;  in  tho  village.-" 

''  Tired  of  Campbell's  Isle  already— eh  ?  I  knew  how  it 
would  be.  Well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  submit  to  keep 
bachelor's  hall  alone  for  a  day,  0/  two,  and  then  I  siiall 
return  to  Westport  to  see  after  my  bonny  bark.  As  tho 
Courtneys  stay,  likewise,  I  shall  have  to  go  alone  ;  so 
au  revoir. " 

And  Captain  Campbell,  after  exchanging  a  word  with 
his  hostess,  left  the  house  to  return  to  Campbell  Lodge. 


li  I 


U2 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


The  few  remaining  guests  by  this  time  had  gone  ;  and 
Wilhird  J)rummond  also  took  his  departure.  And  tlieu 
Sybil  took  lier  night  lami^,  and  retired  to  her  room  to 
dream  of  her  new-found  happiness. 

Laura  Courtney  sat  alone,  on  a  sofa,  in  a  remote  corner  ; 
her  head  on  her  hand — her  brows  knit  in  painful  thought. 
This  fierce  Jealousy  of  her  husband's  was  growing  insutfer- 
able  ;  she  felt  she  could  not  endure  it  much  longer.  Every 
^v(  ^d,  every  look,  every  action  was  warped  aud  distorted 
by  his  jealous  imagination  into  another  proof  of  her  guilt. 
And  she  painfully  felt  that  this  absurd  jealousy  must  soon 
be  apparent  to  every  one — an  almost  unendurable  thought ; 
for,  in  spite  of  all  her  levity  aad  apparent  ind'iference,  the 
little  girl-wife  possessed  too  much  pride  and  telf-respect  to 
carelessly  submit  to  such  a  bitter  humiliation. 

'^  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do,"  she  thought.  "  If  I  sub- 
mit to  all  his  whims  and  caprices,  it  will  only  make  matters 
worse.  Kothingcan  remove  this  deep-rooted  passion,  and 
the  yoke  he  will  lay  on  my  neck  will  become  unbearable. 
Oh  f  I  was  mad — crazed — ever  to  marry  him  !  Every  one 
who  knew  him  told  mo  how  it  would  be  ;  that  he  was 
tyrannical,  jealous,  exacting  and  passionate  ;  but  I  only 
laughed  at  them,  and  deemed  him  perfection.  IIow  I 
could  ever  have  loved  him,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  ;  for  he 
hasn't  a  single  lovable  quality  in  him.  However,  it's  too 
late  to  think  of  all  this  now  ;  I  want  to  forget  the  past  al- 
together, if  I  can,  and  my  folly  with  it.  Good  gracious  ! 
what  an  awful  look  was  on  his  face  that  time  when  I  turned 
round  !  Perhaps,  after  all,  I  had  better  not  go  to  the 
island.  The  man's  a  monomaniac  ou  this  point,  and  it 
won't  do  to  drive  him  to  desperation." 

She  bent  her  forehead  on  her  hand,  and  remained  for  a 
few  moments  lost  in  troubled  thought. 

•'No,  I  shall  not  go;  but  I  will  not  give  him  the  tri- 
umph of  knowing  it.  He  shall  not  think  I  am  afraid  of 
him  and  that  he  has  humbled  me  at  last,"  she  said,  half 
alond,  as  she  raised  her  head  proudly.  *"  I  will  avoid 
Captain  Campbell,  too,  as  much  as  possible,  if  I  can  do  so 
without     attracting   attention.      Ileigho !    what  it  is  to 


Edgar 


IS 


have   a  jealous   husband!     I   wonder  where 
Perhaps  he  has  gone  to  Westport,  and  left  me  here." 

"  Prithee,    why  so  sad  ?"  said  the  jovial  voice  of  Mrs. 
Brantwell,   breaking  in   at  this   moment  on  her  reverie. 


1 


1 


h 


tri- 


is 


A  LULL  BEFORE  THE  TE^fPEST. 


133 


''You  are  looking  as  tloleful  a:^  if  sonic  near  relation  had 
just  been  hanged  for  sheep  stealing.  Come,  I  can't  allow 
any  one  in  my  lioiise  to  wear  so  doleful  a  face.  Don't 
indulge  in  the  blues,  my  dear,  or  you  need  never  exjiect 
to  wax  fat  and  portly,  as  I  am.  Come,  let  me  sec  you 
smile,  now. 

''  Oh,  Mrs.  Brantwell  I  who  could  bo  sad  in  your  sun- 
shiny i)resence  ?"  said  Laura,  smiling  as  brigiitly  as  even 
the  good  old  lady  could  wish  ;  **  but  really,  1  wasn't  out  of 
si)irits,  oidy  dreadfully  sleepy."  And  an  immense  yawn 
confirmed  the  truth  of  her  words. 

"}\o  w«)nder  ;  it's  four  o'clock,  so  you  had  better  retire. 
Jenny  will  show  you  to  your  room." 

"  Did  you  see — h;is  Mr.   Courtney "    began   Laura, 

hesitatingly,  as  she  rose. 

*^Mr.  Courtney  went  to  bed  a  quarter  of  an  liour  ago, 
my  dear.  And  here's  Jenny,  now,  with  your  lamj). 
Goodnight,  love!"  And  kissing  her,  ^L's.  Hrantwell 
consigned  her  to  the  charge  of  a  neat  mulatto  girl,  who 
appeared  with  a  light  at  the  door. 

Laura  followed  lier  up-stairs  to  the  door  of  her  apnrt- 
ment.  And  here  .Jenny  handed  her  the  light,  dropped  a 
courtesy  and  disap[>eared. 

Mrs.  Courtney  opened  tlie  door  and  entered.  It  was  a 
neat,  pretty  little  room,  with  white  curtains  on  the  win- 
dows, and  white  dimity  hangings  on  the  bed  :  a  wjin-hued 
carpet  on  the  lloor,  and  a  cozy  armchair  beside  the  win- 
dow. Mr.  Courtney  sat  on  the  bed.  still  dressed  in  his 
evening  costume — his  arm  resting  on  the  snowy  ])illows, 
and  his  face  bowed  upon  it.  His  dark  elf  locks  fell 
heavily  over  the  Avliite  pillows,  and  he  lay  jis  motionless  as 
though  death  had  stilled  forever  lus  wildlv  throbbinii'  heart. 

lie  looked  up  as  his  wife  entered,  and  dashed  back  his 
long,  dark  hair.  Laura  really  felt  for  him — the  wretched 
victim  of  his  own  turbulent  passion — bill  pity  and  sympathy 
she  knew  would  be  alike  misunderstood  by  him,  if  mani- 
fested ;  pnd  even,  perhaps,  be  adding  fuel  to  the  flames 
raging  in  his  breast. 

*' Oh  !  you  are  here,  are  you?"  she  said,  setting  her 
lamp  on  the  toilet  stand,  and  throwing  herself  languidly 
in  the  armchair.     *'  I  tliought  yon  luid  gone  to  Westport." 

*' And  left  you  to  flirt  with  your  new  lover  I  lla  !  ha  I 
You  thought  so,  did  you  ?  " 


wr? 


I 


134 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


What  a  goblin  laugh  it  was  !  Laura  shivered  involun- 
tarily, but  she  would  not  abate  one  jot  of  her  defiant  sar- 
casm. 

*'  Yes  ;  I  saw  you  playing  the  eavesdropper,"  she  said, 
as  she  began  taking  off  her  collar  and  bracelets  ;  **  it  is 
just  what  I  expected  of  you.  You  did  it  so  expertly  one 
would  think  you  had  been  taking  lessons  all  your  life  in 
listening  at  keyholes.  Perhaps  you  have  learned  from 
some  hotel  waiter  or  lady's  maid." 

"  By  heavens  I  I  will  strangle  you  I "  he  exclaimed, 
roused  to  madness  by  her  taunting  tone.  And  he  sprang 
to  his  feet,  glaring  upon  her  as  though  he  would  fulfill  his 
threat. 

**  Come,  Mr.  Courtney,  be  calm,  or  I  shall  be  under 
the  painful  necessity  of  going  down-stairs  and  inquiring 
where  the  nearest  lunatic  asylum  is  located.  Don't  rave 
now,  or  try  to  transfix  me  with  your  flashing  glances.  I 
am  not  in  the  slightest  degree  afraid  of  you,  Mr.  Court- 
ney." 

And  Mrs.  Courtney  drew  her  little  form  up  to  its  full 
height,  and  looked  with  cool  contempt  in  his  face. 

^'  Madam  !  if  you  go  to  the  island,  I  swear  by  heaven, 
and  all  its  hosts,  it  will  be  the  dearest  night's  work  you 
have  ever  done." 

*'  Hem  !  Why  don't  you  swear  by  the  other  place  ? 
you  are  likely  to  know  more  about  it  some  day  than  you 
will  ever  know  of  heaven." 

"Silence!"  he  shouted,  in  a  fierce  voice.  *'I  repeat 
it ;  if  you  keep  this  appointment  with  Captain  Campbell, 
you  shall  repent  for  it  in  dust  and  ashes  ! " 

For  a  moment  lie  stood  perfectly  paralyzed,  foaming  at 
the  mouth  like  a  wild  beast.  Even  the  audacious  Mrs. 
Courtnoy  trembled  beforo  the  terrible  pitch  of  passion  she 
had  daringly  excited,  ind  with  it  came  another  feeling, 
apprehension  for  her  personal  safety.  S]>ringing  to  her 
feet,  she  darted  past  him,  reached  the  door,  and  said  : 

**  Mr.  Courtney,  your  disagreeable  temper  renders  it 
necessary  for  me  to  leave  you  to  solitude,  which  is  said  to 
be  excellent  for  cross  people.  Hoping  you  will  have  re- 
covered your  usual  good  temper  before  we  meet  again, 
allow  me  to  wish  you  good  night." 

He  darted  toward  her,  but  she  was  gone,  slamming  the 
door  after  her,  and  was  down  the  stairs  in  a  twinkling. 


II 


THE  TEMPEST 


335 


She  knew  he  would  not  dare  to  follow  her  ;  and  reaching 
the  durk,  deserted  parlor,  she  threw  herself  on  a  lounge, 
and  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears.  In  that  mo- 
ment, she  fairly  hated  her  husband. 

But  when  the  household  assembled  next  morning,  little 
Mrs.  Courtney  looked  as  bright  and  smiling  and  breezy  as 
ever,  and  met  her  })ale,  sour-visaged  husband  with  her 
customary  careless  unconcern.  He.  too.  was  calm  ;  bufc 
it  was  a  delusive  lull  in  the  storm — the  treacherous  peace 
of  the  sleei)ing  volcano — the  menacin,^  quiet  of  a  savage 
seeking  revenge — a  calm  more  to  be  dreaded  than  his 
former  fierce  outbursts  of  passion. 


CHAPTER  XVIU. 


AU  my  fond  love  thus  do  I  blow  to  heaven  ; 

'  Tis  iioue. 

Arise,  black  ven.^eance,  from  thy  hollow  cell  : 

Yield  up,  O  love,  thy  crown  and  hearted  throne 

To  tyraimnus  hate  :' Swell,  bosom,  with  thy  fraught, 

For  'tis  of  uspicks'  tongues." 


—Othello. 


Inwardly  congratulating  himself  on  his  successful 
interview  with  Sybil.  Willard  Drummond  sought  his  rooms 
to  lay  his  plans  for  the  future. 

Sybil  must  be  his  wife,  and  that  soon — love,  and  pride, 
and  ambition  all  demanded  it.  It  would  be  such  a  triumph, 
to  carry  oil  this  beauty  and  heiress — ihis  brilliant  star,  who 
would  so  ])roudly  nnd  gloriously  eclipse  tlie  lesser  lights 
of  Sew  York  and  Washington.  And  vet,  thouo-h  his 
darker  angel  ])ronipt,ed  lliis,  he  involuntarily  shrank  from 
the  crime.  What  was  to  be  done  witli  Christie  ?  What 
would  she  do,  when  she  heard  of  his  marriage  ?  Poor, 
deceived  little  Christie  !  his  heart  smote  him  to  think  he 
liad  forgotten  her  already. 

He  did  not  fear  her  much  ;  it  was  not  that  which  made 
him  hesitate.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  revenge  in  her 
disposition.  ^leek,  timid  and  yielding,  he  knew  if  he  com- 
manded her  to  be  silent — saying  his  lienor,  his  happiness 
compelled  him  to  actashe  did — she  would  fold  her  hands 
across  her  lowly  bosom,  and  die,  if  need  he,  and  • '  niake 
no  sign.''  No,  he  did  not  fear  her,  hut  he  feared  himself. 
There  was  a  fierce  struggle  going  on  in  his  breast.     Once 


'■■■!! 


13G 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


Ml 


there  had  been  before.  Then  it  was  between  honor  and 
pussion  ;  now,  it  was  between  pity  and  ambition.  How 
could  he  tell  his  loving  child-bride  that  she  would  never 
see  him  more — that  he  had  deceived  her,  and  was  to  marrv 
another  !  And  on  the  other  hand,  after  his  interview  with 
8ybil  the  previous  night,  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to 
pursue  any  other  course.  Christie  might  suffer — die,  if 
she  would ;  but  Sybil  Campbell — this  regal,  beautiful 
heiress,  thistranscendently  lovely  Queen  of  the  Isle — must 
bo  his  wife.  His  wife  !  Could  she  be  that  while  Christie 
lived  ?  Kis  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  as  he  paced  up  and 
down,  still  revolving  the  question  :  *^  What  next  ? — what 
next  ?  "  ^ 

Unable  to  answer  it,  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  only 
to  live  over  again  the  past  few  weeks  in  feverish  dreams. 

It  was  near  noon  when  he  awoke  ;  and  with  a  head  but 
slightly  clearer  than  it  had  been  the  preceding  night,  he 
set  out  for  the  parsonage. 

"There  is  no  other  course  for  it,"  ravi  his  thoughts  on 
the  way,  ''but  to  see  Christie,  and  tell  her  all.  But  how 
to  see  her  !  Sybil's  jealousy  is  not  dead,  but  sleeping  ; 
and  if  I  visit  the  isle,  it  nniy  break  out  in  new  fury.  I 
must  write  a  note  to  Christie.,  and  send  it  to  the  island 
Wiii'.  some  one — Lem  or  Carl — and  appoint  a  meeting, 
after  niglit,  nnknown  to  every  one.  Yes,  tliat  is  what 
must  be  done.  Poor  Christie  !  poor  Christie  !  Villain 
that  I  am,  to  wrong  you  so  !  but  the  hand  of  destiny  is 
upon  me,  driving  me  on.  How  is  all  this  to  end  ? — in  woe 
for  some  of  us,  ii  the  Egyptian's  prediction  comes  true. 
Well,  I  am  in  the  hands  of  fate,  and  must  accomplish  her 
ends,  come  what  may." 

He  found  Sybil  alone  in  the  drawing-room,  when  he 
entered.  Mis.  Courtney  and  Mrs.  Brantwell  were  con- 
versing in  tlie  sitting-room,  while  Mr.  Courtney  sat  silently 
in  the  depths  of  an  elbow-chair,  and  scowled  at  them  over 
the  top  of  a  book. 

Sybil's  welcome  was  most  cordial,  and  they  were  soon 
eng:i»2:ed  in  aiii mated  conversation. 

Once,  as  if  by  accident,  during  the  conversation  he 
8aid  ; 

''  I  have  left  some  things  I  need  on  the  island,  which  I 
suppose  I  must  soon  go  after." 

*'  If  you  mention  it  to  Guy,  he  will  send  Lem  over  with 


THE  TEMPEST. 


137 


them/'  said  Sybil,  with  an  involuntary  coldness  in  her 
tone. 

"  Jealous  still — I  knew  it,"  was  his  inward  cornniont. 

*'  r  presume  you  do  not  intend  visiting  the  Lodge  your- 
self ?"  lie  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  No  ;  the  island  luis  few  attractions  for  me,  now.  I 
ix-ally  would  not  care  much  if  I  never  saw  it  again,"  sho 
answered  brieily. 

And  there  tlie  subject  dropped. 

That  evening,  when  Willard  returned  to  liis  hotel,  ho 
sat  down  and  indited  tlie  following  note,  without  date  or 
superscription,  to  Christie  : 

"  Dearest  :  For  some  reasons  which  I  will  explain  when 
we  meet,  1  cannot  visit  you  during  the  day.  Meet  me  to- 
night, on  the  beach  below  the  cottage,  any  time  before 
midnight." 

Lest  it  should  by  any  chance  fall  into  other  hands  than 
those  for  whom  it  was  intended,  he  had  omitted  his  name 
— knowing,  besides,  that  it  was  not  necessary,  since  the 
person  to  whom  he  would  deliver  it  would  tell  Christie 
who  had  sent  it. 

Folding  it  up,  he  put  it  in   his  pocket,  knowing  tliat 

either  Lem  or  Carl  would   in  all  probability  visit  N 

during  the  day,  and  he  could  seize  the  first  opportunity 
of  handing  it  to  either  unobserved. 

And  thus  determined  by  his  devoted  attention  to  lull 
her  slightest  doubt  to  rest,  he  set  out  early  the  following 
morning  for  tlie  parsonage. 

This  was  Thursday — tlie  day  on  which  Mrs.  Courtney 
had  promised  to  visit  the  isle. 

The  day  dawned  clear  and  beautiful,  and  as  the  family 
at  the  Braiitwell  mansion  assembled  round  the  breakfast 
table,  little  did  they  dream  of  the  appalling  tragedy  with 
which  it  was  destined  to  close. 

Sybil  and  her  lover  sat  in  their  favorite  seat  in  the  re- 
cess, formed  by  a  deep  bay  window,  talking  in  low,  lover- 
like  tones. 

Good  Mrs.  Brantwell  had  encased  her  large  proportions 
in  a  rocking-chair,  and  was  swaying  backward  and  for- 
v:ard,  plying  her  knitting  needles,  and  trying  to  find  some 
one  to  talk  to — a  somewhat  diflicult  task  ;  for  ]\lr.  Court- 
nev,  sitting  in  sullen  silence,  answered  coldlv  and  liriefly, 
vviiile   his   eyes   continually   followed  his   wife,   who  was 


"^ 


js  ;■ 


138 


THE  QUEEN  or  THE  ISLE. 


fluttering  in  jind  out  in  a  restless,  breezy  sort  of  way,  look- 
ing every  few  nionienls  out  of  tlie  Avindow,  and  starti'ig 
violently  whenever  tlie  door  opened,  ller  husband  saw 
it,  and  said  to  himself  : 

'^Slieis  looking  for  her  lover,  and  is  watching  impa- 
tiently for  liis  coming.  This  is  the  morning  he  promised 
to  take  her  to  the  isle." 

And  liis  eyes  Jissumed  such  a  wild,  maniac  glare,  that 
Mrs.  ]5rantwell,  looking  up  suddenly  from  her  work, 
uttered  a  stifled  scream,"  as  she  exclaimed  : 

**  Gracious  me  !  JVlr.  Courtney,  are  you  ill  ?  You  look 
like  a  gliost — worse  than  any  ghost,  I  declare.  I  knew  your 
wound  was  not  perfectly  healed.  You  had  better  retire 
and  lie  down.'' 

*'  Thank  you,  madam,  I  am  perfectly  well,''  he  answered, 
in  a  hollow  tone  that  belied  his  words. 

Laura,  absorbed  by  her  own  thoughts,  had  not  heard 
this  brief  conversation.  Yes,  she  was  watching  for  Cap- 
tain Campbell,  with  a  nervous  restlessness  she  could  not 
control,  but  with  a  far  different  object  from  that  which  her 
husband  supposed.  She  wanted  to  see  him  for  a  moment 
before  he  entered,  to  tell  him  she  coidd  not  go  with  him 
to  the  island,  and  to  beg  of  him  not  to  allude  to  the  sub- 
ject in  the  presence  of  the  others.  If  he  did,  she  knew 
her  husband's  jealousy  would  be  apparent  to  all — a  humili- 
ation she  wished  to  postpone  as  long  as  possible. 

Therefore,  Avhen  at  last  siie  espied  him  coming,  she  flew 
down  the  stairs,  and  flushed,  eager,  palpitating,  met  him 
in  the  hall. 

*'  Really,  Mrs.  Courtney, '^  he  said,  smiling  at  her  haste, 
**  I  hope  I  have  not  kept  you  waiting." 

"No,  no,"  she  answered,  eagerly;  "I  wanted  to  tell 
you.  Captain  Campbell,  that  I  cannot  go." 

''Xo?"  he  said,  looking  somewhat  disappointed. 
''Then  perhaps  you  will  come  to-morrow  ?" 

'*  Neither  to-morrow,  nor  ever.  I  cannot  explain  now, 
but  I  wanted  to  tell  you  this  before  you  met  the  others. 
Don't  say  anything  about  this  np-stairs  ;  and  if  my  con- 
duct appears  strange,  set  it  down  to  woman's  fickleness, 
to  eccentricity,  to  anything  you  like." 

She  did  not  venture  to  look  up,  but  he  saw  the  burning 
fli^sh  that  swept  over  her  face,  and  for  the  first  time 
guessed  the  secret  of  her  husband's  gloom. 


I 


% 


I 


THE  TEMPEST. 


139 


ted. 

ers. 
;on- 

ess, 


*^  My  dear  Mrs.  Courtney,"  he  said,  gently,  "  tlicre  is 
no  explanation  or  apology  needed.  1  intended  sotting  out 
for  Wostport  to-morrow  ;  but  now,  since  you  v.  ill  not  go, 
1  will  start  this  afternoon.  You  will  most  probably  be 
gone  before  I  return  ;  and  so,  besides  the  formal  adieu  I 
shall  bid  you  up-stairs,  let  me  say  farewell  now.  Should 
we  never  meet  again,  I  hope  you  will  sometimes  think  of 
nie  as  a  friend." 

lie  pressed  her  haiul,  and  passed  np-stairs,  while  Laura 
ran  to  hide  lier  burning  cheeks  in  the  solitude  of  her 
own  room. 

Tiie  dark,  fierce  glance  of  hatred  which  Mr.  Courtney 
bestowed  upon  the  captain  as  he  entered  confirmed  him 
in  his  opinion.  Pitying  Laura,  while  he  despis<'d  her 
husband,  he  determined  to  positively  neglect  lier  rather 
than  give  him  further  cause  of  jealousy. 

"  You  have  left  Lem  waiting  on  the  beach,"  said  Sybil, 
some  half  hour  after  his  entrance.  "  Is  lie  to  wait  for 
you  there  ?  " 

"  By  ,io\Q  !  I  forgot  all  about  liim.  I  ought  to  have 
gone  down  and  told  him  to  return.  1  must  go  now,"  said 
Captain  Campbell,  starting  up. 

*•  No  ;  ring  the  bell,  and  I  will  send  Jenny  down  to  tell 
him,"  said  Mrs.  Brantwell. 

''Never  mind,  I'll  go,"  said  Drummond,  rising  sud- 
deidy,  as  ho  thought  what  an  excellent  opportunity  this 
would  bo  to  deliver  his  note.  "  I  must  be  vit  any  way, 
and  I  can  just  take  the  beach  in  my  way." 

'*  Very  well,"  said  the  young  captain,  resuming  his 
seat.  '*'  Tell  him  I  won't  need  his  services,  and  he  may 
return  home." 

Making  his  adieu,  Drummond  hastened  out  and  went 
down  to  the  beach,  where  Lem  sat  patiently  sunning  him- 
self on  a  log,  and  waiting  for  his  master's  return. 

"  Lem,"  said  Druinmond,  as  he  reached  him,  *' you  are 
to  go  back  to  the  island  without  waiting  for  Cai)tain 
Campbell." 

"  Yes,  massa,"  said  the  obedient  Lem,  starting  up. 

'^  And,  Lem,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  service. 

*'  Berry  well — I's  willin'." 

''  I  want  you  to  carry  a  note  from. me  to  Miss  Christie." 

"Yes,  sar,"  replied  Lem,  inwardly  wondering  what  the 
**  ole  'oman  "  would  say  to  this,  if  she  heard  it. 


^!! 


it 


140 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


''You  are  to  give  it  to  no  one  but  herself — neitlier  to 
Mrs.  Tom  nor  Curl  ;  and  you  must  not  let  any  one  else 
see  you  giving  it,  eitlier.  VVliy,  wliere  the  deuce  can  it 
be  ? — I  surely  liuve  not  lost  it  ?" 

All  this  time  he  had  been  searching  in  his  pockets,  but 
the  note  was  nowliere  to  be  found.  Jle  felt  in  his  vest 
pocket,  where  he  had  placed  it,  then  in  his  coat  pocket, 
then  back  again  to  his  vest.     AH  in  vain.     The  note  was 


gone. 


*'l  must  have  dropped  it  on  the  way,  confound  it  !" 
he  muttered,  angrily.  "What  if  any  one  should  find  it  ? 
But,  luckily,  if  they  do,  there  is  no  clue  by  whicii  they 
will  discover  mo  to  be  the  writer.  Well,  1  must  write 
another,  that  is  all.'' 

He  took  a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his 
tablet,  and  wrote  a  few  lines.  Then  he  consigned  them 
to  Lem,  with  the  caution  : 

"  Be  sure  you  do  not  lose  it,  nor  let  any  one  see  you 
deliver  it.  And  this  is  for  your  trouble — and  silence. 
You  understand  ?" 

*'  Sartin,  marse,"  said  Lem,  rolling  up  his  eyes  with  a 
volume  of  meaning  ;  and  he  pocketed  with  unfeigned  de- 
light the  silver  coin.  "  I'se  duni',  and  nobody '11  see  me 
givin'  Miss  Christie  dis — cotch  a  weasel  asleep. '^ 

*'  All  right,  then — push  off,"  said  Drummond,  as  with 
a  mind  intensely  relieved,  he  sprang  up  the  bank,  while 
liis  messenger  set  off  for  the  island. 

Meanwhile  we  must  return  to  the  parsonage. 

Scarcely  had  Drummond  gone,  when  Mrs.  Courtney 
entered,  and  took  the  seat  he  had  just  vacated,  beside 
Sybil.  Noticing  Captain  Campbell  only  by  a  grave  bow 
— for  the  watchful  eyes  of  her  husband  were  upon  her — 
she  entered  into  a  low-toned  conversation  with  Sybil. 

"  Ah  !  she  is  growing  careful  ;  that  is  a  bad  sign.  I 
must  watch  them  more  closely,  now  that  they  have  be- 
come guarded,''  thought  Mr.  Courtney,  setting  his  teeth 
hard. 

And,  while  the  captain  remained,  every  word,  every 
look,  every  tone  was  watched,  and  perverted  by  the 
jealous  husband.  Captain  Campbell  treated  him  with 
cool  contempt,  and  scarcely  noticed  him  at  all  ;  but  Laura 
watched  him  constantly  from  under  her  long  eyelashes, 
anxious  and  alarmed,  as  she  noticed  his  ghastly  face. 


\ 


THE  TEMPEST. 


141 


!" 


es, 


*<  Oh  !  I  wish  Captain  Campbell  would  go — I  wish  he 
would  go,"  thought  Laura,  looking  uneasily  out  of  the 
window.     "  Heaven  help  Edgar  I  the  man  is  mad  ! " 

Did  some  sweet  instinct  tell  him  her  wish  ?  lie  rose 
that  instant,  to  take  his  leave. 

*^  And — oh  !  by  tiie  way,  Sybil,"  he  said,  suddenly,  as 
he  was  departing,  "  I  came  near  forgetting  I  had  an 
epistle  for  you.  This  is  it,  I  believe,"  he  added,  drawing 
a  note  from  his  pocket,  and  going  over  to  where  she  and 
Laura  sat. 

"For  me?"  said  Sybil,  opening  it.  "Who  from,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  Little  Christie  gave  it  to  me  as  I  was  going." 

"Christie?"  cried  Sybil,  in  a  voice  that  made  them 
start,  as  her  eyes  ran  eagerly  over  the  lines.  They  were 
as  follows  : 

*'  Dear  Miss  Sybil  :  I  did  not  tell  you  all  that  night. 
I  have  thought  since  I  should  have  done  so.  When  next 
you  visit  the  island,  I  shall  reveal  to  you  my  secret ;  for  I 
feel  you  have  a  right  to  know. 

"Christie." 

Pale  with  many  emotions,  Sybil  leaned  for  a  moment 
against  the  window,  without  speaking. 

"  Well,  Sybil,  what  awful  revelation  doea  that  tiny  note 
contain,  to  alarm  jrou  so  ?  "  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  Guy,"  she  said,  impetuously  starting  up.  **  I  must 
visit  the  island  to-day." 

"The  island  !  Nonsense,  Sybil ! "  broke  in  Mrs.  Brant- 
well. 

"  I  must — I  must !  My  business  there  will  not  admit 
of  delay.     I  must  go  ! " 

"Why,  what's  wrong  ?  They  seemed  all  well  when  I 
left,"  said  her  brother,  still  more  surprised. 

Feeling  it  would  not  do  to  excite  a  curiosity  she  could 
not  satisfy,  Sybil  controlled  her  emotions,  and  said,  more 
calmly  : 

"  They  are  well  enough.  It  is  not  that ;  but  circum- 
stances render  it  necessary  I  should  go  there  to-day.  Who 
will  take  me  over  ?  " 

"  If  you  wait  for  an  hour  or  two,  Carl  Henley  will  be 
here.     I  heard  Mrs.  Tom  saying  he  would  visit  N to- 


I  !-^ 


HB  I 


fe  I 


],: 


142 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


night,  for  things  she  wanted.     If  you  must  go,  ho  will  take 
you  wlieu  l»e  returns." 

"  Very  well ;  I  suppose  that  must  do,"  said  Sybil,  con- 
trolling her  burning  impatience  by  a  great  effort,  as  sho 
hastily  left  tlie  room. 

And  Captain  Campbell,  having  made  his  adieux,  also 
departed,  followed  by  Mrs.  Brantwcll.  Laura  kept  her 
seat  by  tiie  window,  while  her  husband  still  scowled 
gloomily  from  under  his  midnight  brow. 

"Well,  this  is  certain^-  pleasant,"  thought  MrSo  Court- 
ney. '*  What  a  prize  I  have  drawn  in  the  great  matri- 
monial lottery,  to  be  sure.  Ugh  !  I  declare,  he  looks 
like  a  ghoul — a  death's  head — an  ogre — a — I  don't  know 
what,  as  he  sits  tliere,  glaring  at  me  in  that  hideous  way. 
Tliat  man  will  be  the  death  of  me  yet,  I'm  sure.  Posi- 
tively I  must  have  committed  some  awful  crime  some  time 
or  other,  to  be  punished  with  such  a  husband.  His  mouth 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  shut,  and  bolted,  and  locked,  and 
the  key  forever  lost.  I  wonder  if  he  could  open  it.  I'll 
see. 

*'  Ml .  Courtney  !  "  she  said,  facing  round. 

An  i>  articulate  "Well  !"  came  growlingly  forth  from 
the  compressed  mouth. 

"  Look  pleasant,  can't  you  ?  I  declare,  the  very  sight 
of  you  is  enough  to  make  one's  blood  run  cold  ! " 

*'  You  would  rather  look  at  the  gallant  Captain  Camp- 
bell, perhaps  !  "  he  said,  with  an  evil  sneer. 

"  Yes,  I  would  then — there  !  You  don't  see  him  wear- 
ing such  a  diabolical,  savage,  cut-throat  look  as  you  do.  I 
wish  to  mercy  you'd  take  him  for  a  model,  and  not  make 
such  a  fright  of  yourself.  I'm  positively  ashamed  to  pre- 
sent you  as  my  husband,  of  late — you  have  got  to  be  such 
a  hideous-looking  creature  !  " 

He  gazed  at  her  without  speaking,  until  a  circle  of  white 
flamed  around  his  eyes.  And  now  that  Laura's  by  no 
means  angelic  temper  was  roused,  there  is  no  telling  what 
she  would  not  have  said,  had  not  Mrs.  Brantwell's  voice 
been  heard  at  that  moment  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
calling  : 

'*  Mrs.  Courtney — Mrs.  Courtney,  I  want  you  a  mo- 
ment." 

Mrs.  Courtney  hastened  from  the  room,  and  Mr.  Court- 
ney was  left  alone  with  his  evil  passions. 


THE  TEMPKST. 


143 


\ 


As  she  rose  from  licr  scut,  his  eyu  fell  on  somethini(  like 
a  note  iiiidcr  her  chair.  lAkv.  ji  tiifer  pouncinuj  on  hh  pr^y, 
ho  sprang  upon  it,  .seized  it,  o])eued  it,  read  it,  and  crushed 
it,  convulsively,  in  liis  huiid. 

It  was  Willard  Druniinond's  lost  note. 

"  This  is  hers  ;  she  has  droppeil  it.  lie  <.':ave  it  to  lier  I  " 
said  the  unhappy  man,  his  face  growing'  absolutely  appal- 
ling in  its  ghastly  palloi-.  '*  Oh,  1  see  it  all — I  see  ii  all  ! 
1'liey  dare  not  meet  in  da\  t  iiiie,  antl  she  will  meet  him 
this  night  f>n  Mk^  ido.  My  (iod  !  1  shall  go  mad  !  Dis- 
honored, disuraeed  forever  !  and  hy  the  woman  1  have 
loved  so  mailly.  And  she  laughed,  nioeked,  and  taunted 
me  to  my  fa(;e,  with  this  in  her  possession  I  " 

ilo  ground  his  teeth,  to  kee{)  hack  the  terrific  groans 
that  were  raising  their  way  up  tiirough  his  tortured  heart. 

And  as  if  si'ut  by  an  evil  demon,  Laura  entert^d  at  that 
moment,  laughing  merrily  at  some  jest  she  had  left  he- 
hind. 

lie  stood  with  his  back  to  her,  as  if  locdving  ont  of  the 
window. 

'•  And  is  this  tlio  woman  I  have  loved — this  vilest  of  her 
sex,  who  dare  laugh  with  such  a  crime  in  her  soul  I  I 
know  now— oh!  I  know  now  why  she  did  not  go  to  the 
island  with  him  to-day.  She  thought  to  blind  me,  and 
make  me  think  she  was  not  going  at  all,  that  I  might  bo 
lulled  into  security,  (lod's  curses  light  on  them  both  !" 
came  through  his  (deiiched  teeth. 

Little  dreaming  of  the  thoughts  that  were  passing 
through  his  mind,  Laura — ever  the  creature  of  impulse — 
forgetting  her  momentary  anger,  went  over,  and,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  said  : 

'*'  Come,  Mr.  Courtney,  throw  off  this  gloom,  and  he  a 
little  as  you  used  to  be.  There  is  no  occasion  for  all  this 
anger,  for  I  am  not  going  to  tlie  island  at  all.  You  see  I 
have  even  given  up  my  own  sv.eet  will  to  please  you  ;  so 
I  think  I  deserve  something  in  return  for  being  so  good. 
])ou't  ir' 

He  turned,  and  slie  almost  shrieked  aloud  at  the  awful 
face  she  belield. 

"  Edgar  I  oh,  Edgar  I  Great  heaven  !  do  not  look  so 
wild.  I  never  meant  to  make  vou  so  angrv.  I  will  not 
go — indeed,  I  will  not  go.  Only  speak  to  me,  and  not 
wear  that  dreadful  look  ! " 


144 


THE  QUEEiS   OF  THE  ISLE. 


,r 


Aiul,  pjile,  irembrn^,  find  terrified,  she  clung  to  his  arm. 
With  iin  Jiwfiil  iiiidedictitjn,  he  hurhul  lior  from  him,  and 
sent  her  reeling  across  tlie  room.  She  struck  against  the 
shar[)  edge  of  tiie  table,  and  fell  to  the  ground,  lier  face 
covered  with  blood. 

But  he  he(Mi('<l  her  not.  Seizing  his  hat  and  cloak,  he 
rushed  from  the  house,  as  if  driven  by  ten  thousand  furies. 
And  his  face  upturned  to  tiic  light,  was  the  face  of  a 
demon. 

Three  hours  later,  a  boat  containing  two  persons  put  oft 
for  Camp'beirs  Jsle.  One  wjis  ;i  rough  iisher  boy,  half 
sim})]eton — iialf  idiot;  the  other  a  tall,  dark  man,  wiio 
sat  in  the  stern,  his  hat  drjiwn  far  down  over  his  brow,  the 
collar  of  his  cloak  turned  up,  leaving  nothing  to  be  seen 
but  a  pair  of  wild,  black,  nniniac  eyes,  that  glared  like 
live  coals  with  the  lires  of  madness. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THAT    DAY. 

"  The  day  is  lowerinp:,  stilly  black 
Sleeps  the  still  wave." 

*' Really,  Sybil,  my  love,  you  are  getting  -^  a  raost 
singular  girl.  Two  or  three  days  ago  you  were  all  in  the 
dismals  ;  then,  after  the  party,  you  got  as  amiable  and 
bright  as  a  June  morning  ;  and  scarcely  had  you  promised 
to  stay  with  me  here  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time,  and 
I  was  congratulating  myself  on  having  secured  you  here, 
when  Guy  brings  you  a  tiny  note  from  this  little  blue-eyed 
island  girl,  Christie,  and  lo  !  you  arc  off  on  the  wing  again, 
and  I  am  left  to  go  moping  about  like  a  poor  old  hen 
turkey  with  the  distemper." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  15rantwell,"  said  Sybil,  **you  liave 
Mrs.  Courtney,  who  is  twice  as  agreeable  and  lively  a  com- 
panion as  I  am.  It's  a  moral  impossibility  for  you  to  go 
moping  around,  as  you  say,  when  she  is  here." 

*'0h,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brantwell,  "that's  all  very  fine, 
without  being  in  the  least  consoling.  I  want  you.  Mrs. 
Courtney's  very  lively  and  all  that,  I  know  ;  but  I  invited 
her  here  as  much  to  keep  you  in  spirits  as  anything  else, 
and  now  you  fly  off  and  leave  us  for  my  pains." 

**  I  am   very  sorry,  Mrs.  Brantwell,   to   disturb   your 


\i 


THAT  DAY. 


145 


amnsoTiieiits,"  said  Syl)il,  jl^tjivoIv  ;  *' but  when  I  tell  3011 
lliis  jilTair  i.s  of  tlie  utmost  iniportjinco  to  mo,  and  tliat  my 
lia})j>inc'sd,  in  a  mcasiiro,  (IojxmuIs  iipitn  my  ^'oiii<;,  I  am 
suru  you  will  witii<liMw  your  ol)jc<!tions." 

"  V«»ur  happiness  ?  Now,  Syhil  Camphell,  I  would  just 
like  to  kuow  wiiat  this  island  ;^^irl  has  irot  to  i\o  witii  your 
happiness?''  said  .Mrs.  Hiantwell,  I'oldiu^^  lier  fat  hunds 
aiul  looi\iu_!^'  into  Sy))irs  face. 

*'  More  than  you  would  over  think,  perhaps — more  than 
I  onee  ever  dreamed  myself  sin;  wouhl  have,"  said  Syhd, 
while  a  cloud  fell  over  l)er  hrow.  ''  Hut  enough  of  this. 
1  cannot  exphiin  further  at  present.  The  amount  of  it  is 
I  nuist  go  to-night." 

Aiul  SyijiTs  face  assumed  that  look  of  steady  decision  it 
could  SOU',  jtimes  wear. 

'*  Hum})h  !  Particularly  mysterious  all  this.  When  do 
you  return  ?  " 

''Tiuit  depe  ids  ni)on  circumstances.  To-morrow,  per- 
haps." 

*'  Sybil,  do  you  know  what  I  think  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Brant- 
well,  with  such  abrupt  suddenness  that  the  young  girl 
started. 

'*  Jso,  indeed  ;  I  do  not  pretend  to  divination,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile. 

^' Shall  I  tell  you?" 

*'  If  you  please.     I  am  all  attention." 

''And  you  will  not  be  angry  with  your  old  friend,  who 
talks  for  your  good." 

''Of  course  not.  What  in  the  world  is  this  preface 
about?" 

And  Sybil's  large  eyes  were  fixed  surprisedly  and  un- 
easily on  the  fair,  llorid  face  of  the  matron. 

"Well,  then,  Sybil,  it's  my  opinion  you're  jealous  of 
some  one,'^  said  the  old  lady,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had 
nuule  a  discovery. 

Sybil's  dark  face  flushed  and  then  grew  very  pale. 

"  And  that's  a  very  miserable  feeling,  my  dear,"  said 
IVIrs.  Brantwell,  composedly,  "  and  also  very  foolish.  No 
sensible  person  ever  gives  way  to  it,  because  they  only 
bestow  their  aifections  on  those  in  whom  they  can  place 
implicit  trust.  Now,  I  hope  you  liave  too  much  good 
sense  to  fancy  Mr.  Drummond  can  care  for  any  one  in  this 
world  more  than  you." 


14G 


TUF,  QUKKN  OF  TlIF  ISLF. 


Sybil  Silt  wiMi  lior  fac-'  averted  ujul  iiuido  no  reply. 

*'  I  had  too  lii^li  an  opinion  of  yon,  Sybil,"  went  on  tho 
old  l:uU%  very  <;ravoly,  "to  think  yon  could  stooj)  to  !)0 
jcMJons  of  any  ont«.  nnioh  less  an  ij»si<»MirK'ant  Utile  ^irl 
like  tliis  Christie.  Don't,  be  ani;ry,  my  h>ve,  I  am  talking 
for  yonr  i;()od.  y\n(l,  indeed,  yon  have  not  the  Bli^htest 
eanso  to  fear  a  rival  ;  for,  p;o  wliere  yon  wi'l  you  cannot 
iiiid  one  more  pc'crh'ssly  Ix'auliful  tlian  y()iir.s(>lf.  1  don't 
say  this  to  make  yon  vain — fhon^di  I  know  yon.  my  (jueenly 
darliui;-,  could  never  be  vain — but  it  is  to  inspire  you  with 
i'onihience.  (.yonu>,  my  dear  ehihl,  shake  olf  this  feeling 
that  is  unworthy  of  you.  Mr.  Dri'.nnnond,  1  feel  assured, 
has  never  for  an  instatit  wavered  in  his  fidelity  to  you.'' 

"Who  said  I  was  j.»!alous?''  said  Sybil,  passioiuiteiy. 
**  I  am  not.  lie  dare  iu)t  be  false  to  me.  Let  him  try  it 
at  his  peril.     He  knows  1  am  not  one  to  be  trifled  with." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  your  very  velienu;nee  convinees  me  of 
"what  1  only  susp^  eted  before.  I  am  afraid  you  will  be 
very  unhappy,  Sybil,  if  you  indulge  in  sucdi  feelings. 
You  ought  to  try  and  cultivate  a  more  trusting  spirit,  my 
dear;  withoiit  perfect  faith  in  the  person  we  love  there 
can  be  no  happiness." 

'' 1  do  trust!  J  do  trust  !  I  will  trust  I  "  said  Sybil, 
cleiudiing  her  snudl  hand  as  though  she  would  in  like 
mnniuM*  shut  out  all  doubt  from  her  heart.  "•  lint,  oh, 
where  we  love,  the  faintest  symptom  of  distrust  i^  mad- 
ness." 

"  Where  Ave  love  truly  wo  feel  no  distrust,  Sybil." 

''Oh,  you  do  not  know.  Do  1  not  love  truly  ?  Have 
1  nt>t  staked  life  and  heart  and  happiness  on  him,  and 
yet 

''  You  doubt." 

''>«o,  ut) — not  now.  1  did  doubt,  but  that  time  has 
gone,"  said  Sybil,  with  a  sort  of  incoherence. 

•'Then  wherefore  thfs  visit  to  the  isle,  Sybil ':*"  said 
Mrs.  l^rantwell,  lixing  her  eyes  searehingly  on  her  face. 

Uefore  Sybil  could  reply  a  souml,  as  if  of  a  lieavy  fall 
belov  ,  reached   their  ears. 

"  What  can  tluit  be  ?  ''  said  Mrs.  l^rantweir,  starting  up. 

''It  sounds  like  some  one  falling,"  said  Sybil,  listening, 
breathlessly.      "  1  will  go  down  aiul  see.' 

She  Hew  down  the  long  staircase,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Brantwell,     And,  on  entering  the  room,  there  they  found 


k 


TTFAT  DAY. 


147 


lias 


^# 


Mrs.  Conrtney  lying  .slmisuIchs  on  tho  floor,   Iier  face  tlol- 
ugod  witii  hlood. 

"■  (Jreut  licavcMH  !  what  lia.s  liaj)])oiio(l  ?  "  sjiid  Syl)il, 
turning  faint  und  sick  at  tlie  sight. 

"Oh,  1  know,"  said  Mrs.  Urantwcll.  wihlly,  as  she 
Imrricfd  forward  and  raised  the  sh-iKh^r,  prostrate  form. 
*M)h,  that  demon  of  jcahtusy  !  how  many  souls  id  it  des- 
tincii  [()  torture  ?     Syljil,  ph'ase   ling  lh(!  hell." 

"  I'ut  what  (h)es  this  mvuu  ?  I  do  not  nndersland," 
said  Sybil,  as  she;  olicycd. 

"  Why,  this  poor  tdiiid's  Inishaiid  is  '-razy  with  jealousy 
— I  liave  observ<'d  it,  though  she  tliongiit,  I   (ii(|  not." 

"Heaven  i)t!  merciful  !  he  cannot  have  struck  her!" 
said  Syl)il,  white  with   horror. 

"  Oil,  I  do  ]iot  know;  l)ut  jeido'isy  will  mak(^  a  man 
do  anything — commit  murder  ;  it  has  done  it  before  now, 
and  will  again.  .Fetmy,"  she  said,  as  the  mulatto  servant 
entered,  "  tell  'I'om  to  go  instantly  for  the  doctor,  and 
th(;n  come  back  and  help  me  to  carry  this  poor  lady  up- 
stairs." 

The  alarmed  girl  flew  to  o})ey  ;  and,  after  despatching 
the  boy  for  the  doctor,  hurried  back  and  aided  Mrs. 
J5rantwcll  in  conveying  the  slight  form  of  Mrs.  Courtney 
to  her  room. 

Then,  with  some  tepid  water,  she  waslied  ofT  the  blood 
and  disclosed  a  deep  gash  right  above  the  eye,  which  con- 
tinued bleeding  so  i)rofusely  as  to  awaken  fears  for  her 
life. 

"Oh,  1  fear  she  will  bleed  to  death  !  Would  that  the 
doctor  were  here!"  said  Mrs.  IJrantwell,  wringing  her 
ininds  in  deepest  distress. 

"And  liere  he  is,"  said  Sybil,  as  at  that  niomcTit  the 
doctor  hastily  entered. 

After  examining  the  wound  the  doctor  pronounced  it 
dangerous,  hut  not  fatal,  Jind  soon  succeeded  in  stopping 
the  bleeding.  And  then  the  dark  eyes  of  Laura  opened 
wildly,  antf  wandered  with  a  vague,  frightened  look  around. 
"My  poor  child,  what  has  hapi)encd  ? "  said  Mrs! 
Brantwell,  bending  over  her,  and  parting  the  bright,  dis- 
ordered hair  off  her  pale  brow. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  said,  grasping  Mrs.  Brantwells 
arm  convulsively. 

"Who,  love  ?"  said  Mrs.  Brantwell,  gently. 


ift 


148 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


II 

i> 

II 

'5 

SHH' 

;, 

9B^Bh 

f 

1t|  kIiiSS^ 


*' Oh,    he — Mr.    Courtney?"  she    said,    in    the    same 
frightened  whisper. 

"  He  ia  gone  dear.     Did  lie  strike  you  ?  " 


**0h,  no  ! — no  !  no  !"  slie  cried,  wihlly. 


''I  fell  and 
I  am  going 


struck  against  something.     Oh,   my  head  ! 
crazy,  I  think." 

**  Hush,  love  ;  you  must  not  excite  yourself.  Lie  still 
and  do  not  talk." 

**  I  have  been  very  wicked — very  rash,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
I  did  not  mean  it.  Oh  !  I  never  meant  it — I  never — 
never  meant  it ! "  she  moaned,  pressing  her  hands  over 
her  heart. 

'*  My  dearest  child,  I  know  it ;  but  it  will  hurt  you  to 
talk  so  much," 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  always  did  talk  thoughtlessly,  and  it  has 
driven  him  mad.  Oh  !  I  loved  him  once,  and  1  have  driven 
him  mad  now,"  she  cried,  wringing  her  pale  fingers. 

Mrs.  Brantwell  looked  at  the  puzzled  doctor  in  deepest 
distress. 

*'  Give  her  this  ;  it  will  compose  her,"  said  that  gentle- 
man, who  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  all  this. 

**  Drink  this,  love  ;  it  will  soothe  you,"  said  that  good 
lady,  raising  the  poor,  wounded  head  of  the  young  wife 
and  holding  the  cup  to  her  lips. 

With  the  passive  obedience  of  a  child  she  complied,  and 
fell  on  her  pillo\v.  And  gradually  the  wild,  frenzied  ex- 
pression left  her  face,  and  she  fell  into  a  deep  slumber. 

**  And  now  she  must  be  kept  very  quiet,"  said  the 
doctor,  as  he  took  his  hat  and  gloves.  ''  There  is  not  the 
slightest  danger  if  she  is  not  allowed  to  excite  herself  and 
is  carefully  nursed,  which  I  know  she  will  be  with  Mrs. 
Brantwell.  Repeat  the  medicine  when  she  wakes,  and  I 
will  call  again  to-morrow." 

And  the  doctor  bowed  himself  out,  while  Mrs.  Brant- 
well sat  down  beside  the  poor,  pale  sleeper,  fanning  her 
gently  and  watching  her  while  she  slept. 

Sybil,  seeing  her  presence  was  not  necessary,  went  down 
to  the  parlor,  where  she  found  Willard  Drummond  await- 
ing her.  She  started  in  alarm,  for  his  countenance  was 
grave  and  deeply  troubled. 

"  Why,  Willard,  what  has  happened  ?  "  she  asked,  hur- 
riedly, quick  to  take  the  alarm  where  he  was  concerned. 

**  Sybil,"  he  said,  slowly,  **  I  am  obliged  to  leave  you." 


THAT  DAY. 


149 


same 


f> 


^) 


She  tnriiod  deadly  pale,  and  lier  large,  dark  eyes  wore 
fixed  on  bis  face  in  agonized  inquiry. 

'^Scarce  an  honr  ago  1  received  a  letter  from  home,'* 
he  went  on,  '^saying  that  my  father  was  at  the  point  of 
death,  and  if  I  ever  wished  to  see  him  again  I  must  hasten 
there  imnicdiately.  1  have  not  a  moment  to  lose.  I  start 
instantly  :  but  lirst  1  have  come  to  take  leave  of  you." 

The  news  came  so  suddenly  that  for  a  moment  she 
seemed  stunned. 

"  When  do  you  return  ?"  she  said  in  a  voice  faint  with 
emotion. 

"  Soon,  I  hope  ;  but  I  cannot  as  yet  tell.  Farewell, 
my  own  dearest  love;  believe  me,  I  will  return  to  you  as 
soon  as  may  be." 

*' And  you  w'U  write  ?"  she  said,  burying  her  face  in 
his  shoulder. 

"  Certainly,  Sybil,  that  will  bo  my  first  care.  Remem- 
ber me  to  our  friends,  and  explain  to  them  the  cause  of 
this  abrui)t  departure.     And  now  once  more,  adieu." 

He  pressed  her  to  his  heart  and  then  quitted  the  house, 
and,  mounting  his  horse,  rode  rapidly  away 

Once  he  i)aused  ami  looked  anxiously  in  the  direction 
of  the  isle.  Ite  thought  of  Christie  receiving  his  note, 
and  waiting  for  him  in  vain  at  their  lovely   trysting  place. 

*'What  will  she  think  of  my  absence?"  he  mused; 
*'  for  I  know,  poor  faithful  child,  she  will  await  my  com- 
ing there  until  morning  dawns.  What  cause  will  she 
assign  for  my  not  keeping  my  ap])ointment  ?  Well,  1 
cannot  help  it.  I  dare  not  wait  until  morning,  and  she 
will  hear  to-morrow  whyl  was  absent." 

And  he  rode  on,  never  thinking  whether  Christie  was 
destined  to  live  to  see  that  eventful  morrow  dawn. 

When  he  was  gone,  Sybil  sat  for  a  few  moments  with  a 
a  feelinii;  of  utter  desolation.  She  knew  he  was  not  to  bo 
gone  long  ;  but  it  was  their  first  parting,  save  the  few 
days  she  was  absent  in  New  York,  and  there  was  a  dreary 
sense  of  loneliness — a  passionate  longing  to  be  with  him, 
to  never  leave  him — fillijig  her  heart.  With  her  hands 
lying  upon  the  table,  and  her  head  drop{)ed  upon  them, 
she  remained  wdioUv  nnconscious  of  the  fliuht  of  time 
until  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Brantwell  aroused  lier. 

She  lifted  her  head  and  tried  to  listen,  as  the  good  old 
lady  spoke  of  Laura. 


150 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


**  Slie  li;is  lijid  ji  quiol,  sloop,  jiiul  now  appears  much 
bctior.  Hut  how  pale  you  are,  Syl)il  !  Aro  you  goiui^  to 
l)u  ill,  too  ?" 

"  No,  1  jini  (piito  well  ;  only  it  gavo  ine  such  a  Hlio(3k,  it 
was  so  sudden,"  said  Sybil,  pre.s.sin<^  her  hands  to  iior 
throbbino"  brow. 

"  Yes  ;  I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  ]\Irs.  Brantwell, 
tliinking  the  slionk  she  alluded  to  was  the  sudden  sight  of 
Laur:!.  "  I  came  (olook  for  a  sponge,  and  must  go  back 
to  Mrs.  Courtney  now.'^ 

She  left  the  room,  and  Sybil  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out. 

The  afternoon  wms  w:ining — the  sun  was  slowly  sinking 
toward  the  west,  and  Sybil  saw,  with  some  concern,  that  ii 
dark,  dense  cloud  was  rising. 

"  There  is  a  storm  coming,  and  ]ierh!ips  there  may  bo 
no  boat  from  the  island,  after  all,"  she  said,  anxiously. 
''  How  can  [  wait  until  to-mori(»w  ?  " 

l^ut,  even  while  she  spoke,  she  es})ied  the  well-known 
form  of  Carl  Henley  apjiroaehing  the  house. 

Sybil  si>rang  to  the  bell  and  rang  a  peal  that  presently 
brought  .lenny. 

'*,)enny,  run  down  to  the  door  and  tell  the  boy  you  will 
sec  ])assing  to  come  np  here  immediately,"  she  said  ex- 
citedly. 

denny  disappeared,  and  soon  returned  with  IVfaster 
Carl,  looking  considerably  amazed,  not  to  say  frightened, 
at  this  unexpected  sumn-.ons. 

'*  Carl,  what  time  do  you  return  to  the  island  ?"  asked 
Sybil. 

"  Right  off,  soon's  ever  I  get  some  tea  and  sugar  and 
coiTee  and  starch  and  things  for  Aunt  Tom." 

*'  Will  you  take  me  over  when  you  are  going,  Carl  ?" 

*'  Yes'm,  if  you'll  not  be  long  getting  ready  ;  'cause 
tbere's  a  storm  a-comin',  an^  no  nuitter  how  hard  1  pull, 
it'll  be  d.'U'k  afore  we  get  there."  said  Carl. 

"  I  will  be  ready  in  live  minutes,  and  wait  for  you  on  the 
beach.  'J'hat  will  do,"  said  Sybil,  rising,  to  close  the  in- 
terview. 

Carl  hurried  out  to  fullil  his  commissions  for  Mrs.  Tom, 
and  Sybil  went  to  her  room  to  dress  and  to  take  leave  of 
Mrs.  Brantwell. 

"  Self-willed— self-willed  !  "  said    the    good   old   lady, 


WHAT  CAME  NEXT. 


151 


Rorrowfully,  .'is  slie  kissiMl  licr.  '^  W(!ll,  ^ood-by,  my  love, 
ivi'int'iiihrr  I  sliull  expect  you  I);i('k    to-morrow." 

"  And  I  sliiill  ('.I'l'tjiiuly  try  not  to  (li.sapjxtiiit  you,"  sjiid 
Syl)il,  ii.s  slio  quitted  tlio  room. 

SliC!  took  lier  \v:iy  to  the  Iteiieh.  \vlier(^  slio  wjih  soon 
joined  by  Carl,  wiio,  mutteriiiii;' nn  in;irtieubite  Homc^lhin^ 
jibout  Inivin;,^  ;i  "stunner  of  ji  st(nMn  pretty  soon,"  [)usbod 
(AY  and  took  th(^  oars,  jind  under  liis  ])rfictis('d  hands  the 
hoat  was  soon  Hying  like  u  bird  througii  the  sparkling 
wt  ves. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


WTFAT  CAMK  NHXT. 


'^ 


K 


^ 


"  Aiul  (III  tlio  miili)it;Iit  air  uroso 
Tliat  Hwt'iil  (lyiti;:  cry, 
Tliiit  <'r|i(M'i|  llifon;,'li  the  loiioly  liouse, 
Vlliratiii^j  to  till'  slcy." 

The  sky  was  rapidly  dai-kening.  The  wind  came  wail- 
ing witli  a  low,  menaeirig  sound  over  tho  waters,  'i'he 
sun  sank  rcnl,  jiery  and  threateuing  in  tho  far  west,  and 
tlio  s(3:irod  water  fowl  went  skimming  over  the  tioublod 
face  of  the  bay,  sending  full,  wild  shrieks,  as  if  to  her.'dd 
the  coming  storm.  The  darkened  sea  heaved  and  tossed 
as  if  struggling  with  an  inward  foe,  and  the  little  boat 
(piivered  in  evciT  joint  as  it  Hew  over  the  glassy  waves. 

Sybil's  eyes  kindled  as  they  surveyed  the  grand  but  ter- 
rible beaut,y  of  the  S(!ene.  On  the  east,  as  far  as  the  eye 
eould  see,  spread  out  th(^  boundless,  te?upestuous  ocean; 
on  the  west  stretched  a  long  line  of  coast,  forming  a  sort 
of  semi-circle,  lost  ou  on(^  side  in  the  dense  primeval  forest 
that  as  yet  the  woodman's  ax  had  not  desecrated,  and  on 
the  other  jutting  out  in  a  wild,  rocky  promontory. 
On  the  south  was  the  island,  which  they  were  now  ap- 
proa(diing,  looking  a  mere  dark  Fpeek  in  the  vast  and 
mighty  deep. 

'^  If  we  don't  Inive  a  screamer  of  a  storm  to-night,  you 
may  say  1  don't  know  nothing 'bout  the  weather,"  said 
Carl,  pausing  for  a  moment  to  wipe  the  perspiration  off 
his  lieated  brow,  a.nd  glance  at  the  troubled  face  of  the 
deep,  and  darkening  face  of  tlie  sky — *'snch  a  one  as  we 
ain't  liad  since  the   night   me   and   Mr.    Drummond   and 


1  <l-v 


rv 


'M 


i 


TIIM  QUEKN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


TjOiu  saved  tlio  man  aiul  woman  wliat  was  washed  ashore 
from  the  wreck." 

'*  'V\u\t  Wits  an  awful  ni<i[lit,"  said  Syl)il,  still  keeping 
hor  kindliiijj^  eye  lixed  on  the  jjjloomy  j^raiuleur  of  the  sea 
and  sky,  "  but  iiow  splendid,  jjow  mai^nilieent,  liow  ^lori- 
ons  til  is  prospect  is  !  Oil  !  I  love  a  storm  I  1  lov(^  tiie 
<:;rand  jubilee  of  the  earth,  when  sea  and  wind  and  li^lit- 
nini;;  and  storm  all  Join  in  the  glorious  hymn  of  the  tem- 
])est.  Oh  !  the  niglils  that  I  hav(^  spcntoii  sea  when  noth- 
ing was  to  be  seen  but  the  l)laek  i>all  of  the  heavens  above, 
rent  every  instant  by  forked  lightning,  wliile  the  crash  of 
the  thniuler  and  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  waves  mingled 
together  in  the  sublime  refrain,  and  our  ship  went  driving 
on  as  if  mad.  Oh  !  for  those  nights  again  I  when  my 
very  sonl  was  inspired  by  the  nns[)eakable  gloi'y  of  the 
scene." 

ller  wild  eyes  shoncand  Hashed  lik<^  stars,  and  her  cheeks 
ilushed  with  ihe  impetuosity  with  wiiich  she  s])oke.  She 
was  not  addressing  Carl — she  was  not  thinking  of  him  ; 
she  did  not  even  s(>e  him  ;  her  whole  soul  and  heart  and 
mind  were  lilled  with  the  ])resent  scene  and  the  remem- 
briince  of  those  she   had   beheld. 

Carl  stareil  for  an  inst:int.  at  the  wild  girl,  wondering  if 
she  had  goue  mail,  but  Svbil  recovered  from  her  niomeii- 
tary  trance  and  asked  quietly  : 

'*  Oo  you  think  we  will  reach  the  island  before  the  storm 
bursts  ?  " 

*'  Yes  ;  1  guess  so.  We'll  be  there  in  'bont  ton  minutes 
now.     Oh  I  by  granny,  here  it  comes." 

A  low.  sullen  rumbling,  the  herald  of  the  coming  storm, 
M'as  heard,  and  two  large,  heavy  drops  of  rain  fell  ])atter- 
ing  on  the  thwart. 

"  Lor'  sakes  !  ef  the  squall  comes  now,  we^ll  go  to  the 
])ottom  for  s:irtin,"  said  Carl,  pulling  with  t!ie  energv  of 
desperation,  iintil  the  perspiration  stood  in  great  glob- 
ules on  his  brow. 

But  the  storm,  as  if  in  pity  for  that  frail  bark  and  its 
inmates,  held  up  a  few  moments  longer,  and  (-ari  uttered 
a  yell  of  triumph  as  lie  sliot  into  a  little  natural  harbor, 
sheltered  by  overhanging  rocKs,  immediately  below  the 
Lodge. 

'*  Let  the  storm  come  !  "  he  cried,  waving  his  cap  in  ex- 
ultation, *•  we're  all  rigiit  as  a  trivet  now." 


r^' 


i) 


■3t 


WHAT  CAME  NliXT. 


153 


And  as  ho  spoke  his  last  words  were  lost  in  the  roar  of 
the  wind  and  se:i. 

Safe  and  sheltered  as  it  was  in  tlie  little  eove,  tlie  boat 
quivered  for  an  instiint  like  a  reed  in  tlnj  Ijhist  before  the 
lii-sL  furious  crash  of  tlie  storm.  Had  it  burst  uj)()ii  tiieni 
a  fow  nioMients  sooner  they  wouhl  instantaneously  havo 
been  swaiujK'd.  lUit  Carl,  bendin*;  before  the  furious 
gale,  drove  his  stanch  litlle  craft  ashore  in  triuin}»h,  and 
S])raii<^  out,  followed  by  Sybil. 

'IMie  rain  was  falling  heavily,  and  the  wind  blew  so  furi- 
ously, driving  it  in  her  face,  tiuit  for  tlie  first  nionicnt  she 
shrank  back  and  was  foi'ced  to  grasp  a  projcc^ting  rock  to 
prevent  herself  from  being  blown  backward.  'I'lic  next 
instant  her  dauntless  spirit  returned,  and,  raising  her  head, 
she  shook  the  rain  from  her  drip|»ing  hxtks  and  .sj)rang  up 
the  rocks  with  I  lie  fearless  agility  of  a  young  moniilain 
kid  until  slu;  stood  at  the  door  of  Campbell's  Lodge,  her 
ancestral  home. 

All  the  front  of  the  house  was  dark  and  cheerless — for 
Aunt  !Moll  never  visited  the  front  chambers  when  the 
family  was  absent.  Pushing  open  the  hall  door,  which  was 
never  locketl,  Sybil,  accustomed  to  the  way,  from  ciirliest 
childhood,  passed  through  the  hall  to  the  door  leading  to 
the  kitchen,  while  the  old  house  shook  to  its  center  and 
every  window  rattled  in  the  furious  blast  of  the  storm. 
The  very  chimneys  shook  as  though  they  would  fall  and 
annihilate  them,  when  Sybil  o})ened  tlie  door,  and,  wet, 
drip{)ing  like  a  niernuud  rising  from  the  sea  foam,  stood 
before  her  two  astonished  servants. 

There  W'as  a  bright  lire  roaring  cheerily  up  the  wide 
chimney  ;  for,  summer  or  winter,  Aunt  Moll  insisted  on 
having  a  fire,  .vud  over  this  the  affrighted  old  woman 
crouched,  mumbling  strange  prayers  and  invocations  for 
mercy,  and  fairly  gray  with  terror.  licm,  little  less  alarmed, 
sat  in  a  remote  corner,  keeping  his  eyes  tightly  shut  to 
ex(dude  the  blinding  glare  of  tlie  vivid  flashes  of  iightning. 
At  the  sudden  and  st;irtling  opening  of  the  door  boUi  looked 
np  and  beheld  their  young  mistress,  whom  thcv  sup- 
posed safe  at  the  parsonage,  standing  before  tliem,  her 
wild,  black  hair  streaming  in  disorder  down  her  back. 
Aunt  Moll  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and,  springing  to 
her  feet,  rushed  over  and  threw  herself  into  Lem's  arms 
with  the  cry  : 


154 


TlIK  QTTKKX  OF  TUK  ISLK. 


'^  All,  it.'rt  SI  c:<)s'  !  it's  a  j^os'  !  Oli,  Ijcm  !  sabe  yor  poor 
olo  iiiiuldcr  I  It 's  our  vouiii;-  missus'  gos'."  Ami,  tcrror- 
Kl.rickt'u,  Auul  Moll  cluiii;-  slirickiiiL:^  to  Loni,  wlio  stood, 
un;il)l('  to  si)e;ik,  liis  ti'cl  li  cluittcriui^  with  (error. 

Tho  sccTKMVMSi  SO  ri(li(Mtl()us — Aunt  Moll's  lorror  and 
LcMu's  fri«rl>t<MU'(|  I'aco  atul  distciHlcd  cyohjills — tliat^  Sybil, 
throwini;  herself  into  a  seat,  oould  scarcely  refrain  from 
lauiiliter. 

At  this  Aunl^Ioll  ee:ised  her  shrieks  and  looked  n]), 
a]id  Tjimu  looked  at  her  in  utter  hewildcM'menl. 

"  It's  our  young  .Miss  Sybil  herself, "  venture<l  Leni  at 
hisl. 

"  Why,  of  course  it,  is,"  snid  Sybil,  as  soon  as  she  could, 
speak  for  biughttM-.  "  ('ome.  Aunt  Moll,  I'm  no  nior(»  of 
a,  i^bost  than  you  are  yourself.  Don't  look  so  terribly 
af.'aid  of  me." 

"  Miss  Sybil,  is  it  you  ?"  snid  Aunt  ^l«dl,  be*]^inning 
cautiously  to  apjiroach  and  eyin.i;'  her  askance.  "  Well, 
I  'dare  to  a'racious,  if  1  didn't  t'ink  't\v:is  your  gos'.  Miss 
Sybil,"  said  Aunt  Moll,  drawing  a  (b'e]>  breath.  "  What 
could  take  you  out  sich  a  stormy  night  ?  " 

'•  Carl  Henley's  boat  brought  me  Ihm-c  ;  1  wanted  to  see 
>ou  ami  jjcm.  Aunt  Moll.  And  now,  Lem,  o-o  and  make  a 
lire  in  my  bedroom  to  air  it ;  I  am  going  to  stay  liere  all 
niii'ht." 

''  S'pect  you'll  have  to.  Should  like  to  know  who  could 
go  out  ag'in  dis  night.  0  Lor'  a  massy  sakes  I  jist  listen 
to  dat,  Avill  yer  r' "  said  Aunt  Moll,  trembling  and 
shrinking,  as  aniUher  furious  blast  made  the  old  house 
shake. 

*^  Yes,  it's  a  terrible  niirht  :  heaven  ^rant  there  mav  be 
no  wrecks  on  the  coast,"  said  Sybil,  thoughtfully. 

''An'  now,  honev,  when  de  tire's  made  in  ver  room,vev 
must  o-o  up  and  take  otf'n  ver  wet  clothes,  else  \ou'll  catch 
your  dv\X  o'  cole.     An'  I'll  get  yer  supper,  'cause  yer  mus 
"be  hungry,"  said  Aunt  Moll,  approaching  the  lireplace. 

l^ut  at  that  instant  a  vivid  Hash  of  lightning  blazed 
down  the  wide  chimnev,  and  old  Moll  sprang  back  with  a 
yell. 

"■  0  Lor' !  who  ebber  did  see  de  like  o*  dat  ?  S'pect  it 
fought  it  had  me  dat  time,  but  1  ain't  cotched  vet  !"said 
the  old  woman,  quaking  in  terror. 

*•  Oh,  don't  mind,    Aunt  Moll ;  I  do  not  care  for  any- 


f 


WHAT  (;A.MK  NKXT. 


155 


ycr 
itch 


*t  it 
5uid 


*:'4 

m 

Ml 

1 
it'')"' 

;# 


-■■a 


m 


t 
1 


t 


tliiii<;,"  fiiiid  Syl)il  ;  ''  and  here  comus  Limii,  so  I  will  go  to 
my  room." 

'•'Oil,  Miss  Sybil,  ni;iy  I  i;o,  too  ?  'Deed  an'  Mftnl,  I  is 
'fe;irt'(l  to  stay  \\v\'v  !"  siiid  Aunt  Moll,  in  t  ruinblini;  tonrs, 
us  slio  iist('ii('(i  to  the  ^o:l^iIl<^^  liowlin;^,  shrii'kin;^  of  tlitj 
wild  storni  wil.lioiit. 

♦*  (Jcrtiiiiily,  Aunt  Moll  ;  if  yon  think  yon  will  beany 
safer  with  inc,  yon  uro  welcome  t(^  come.  But  your  I  rust 
Bhould  be  plaecMJ  in  a  Iliij^her  i'owei'.  lie  who  rnles  the 
storni  alone  ean  hel])  you,"  said  Sybil,  gravely. 

"  Yes,  NFiss  Sy!)il,  I  knows  all  dat,  an'  1  does  trus'  in 
I'rovidenee  ;  I,.;^,  '[)ears  like  I'd  feel  safer  i^f  I  was  with 
you.  Seems  like  de  danger  wouldn't  bv.  so  near,  noi'  so 
drelTul,"  said  Aunt  Afoll  ;  ''  an'  i  allers  was  awfully  akecreil 
0    liglitnm  . 

**  Very  well  ;  eomo  then,''  said  Sybil. 

And  Aunt  Moll,  glad  of  the  |)ermission,  lit  a  eandhjjind 
preceded  Sybil  through  the  hall  and  up  the  polished  oaken 
stairs  at  a  shutlling  trot — leaving  Ijcm,  nuich  against  his 
will,  sole  possessor  of  the  kitclien. 

There  was  a  bi'ight  lire  biirnijig  in  the  hearth,  which 
the  dam]),  unused  rooms  required,  I'endering  tin;  flicker- 
ing tallow  candle  superlluoiis. 

"  Now,  where  are  you  going  to  sleep,  Aunt  Moll  ?" 
sai<^  Sybil. 

'•  Here  on  de  floor,  lioney  ;  I'll  bring  in  do  mattress  an' 
spread  it  liere  afore  dc  lire." 

Sybil  assented  to  this  arrangement  ;  and,  lifting  the 
blind,  seattMl  herself  by  the  window  to  wat(di  the  storm. 
But  Aunt  Moll,  coming  in,  lield  up  her  hands  in  speech- 
less terror  at  her  hardihood. 

'*  Settin' at  de  winder,  an' it  a-lightnin'  !  "shocxclaimod. 
''  ]\liss  Sybil,  honey,  dat's  do  mos'  recklesses'  t'ing  to  do 
as  eber  was.  Put  down  de  curtain,  chile,  an'  go  to  bed  ; 
it's  a-tenipin'  o'  de  Lor',  dat  ar." 

"  Tlierii's  no  (buigcr.  Aunt  ^roll,"  said  Sybil;  'Mt  is 
just  as  safe  here  as  in  bed." 

"  ]^[\l  it  ain't,  chile  ;  yon  doesn't  know.  It's  wrong 
and  likewise  sinful  to  sit  down  ;i-lookin'  atdcstorm,"  pc-- 
sisted  the  old  woman. 

But  Sybil  without  l)ayiiig  the  sliglilest  atf-ention,  slill 
sat  gazing  out  ;  whih;  Aunt  ^loll  from  entreating  took  to 
scoldiug,  which  was  likewise  unheeded.     J'ut  at  hist — 


H 


156 


THE  QUEEN   OF  THE  ISLE. 


w 


**  Hold  your  tongno,  Aunt  Moll,'*  stiid  her  young  mis- 
tress, ini})jitiently  facing  rouiul,  tired  of  heuring  the  giir- 
rulous  old  woniun.  And  at  this  unprecedented  rebuke 
Aunt  Moll  lay  down  before  the  lire  in  mortified  silence. 

Though  burning  with  feverish  im^)jiticnce  to  meet 
Christie  and  learn  what  meaning  lay  couched  in  lier  mys- 
terious note,  Svbil  found  herself  forced  to  wait  until  morn- 
ing.  The  storm  seemed  steadily  increasing,  the  wind 
raved  wildly,  sliaking  every  beam  in  the  old  house,  and 
the  booming  of  the  sea  on  the  rocks  was  deafening. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  wildly  shrieking  tempest,  the  ap- 
palling crash  of  the  angry  elements,  l)ut  an  unaccount- 
able dejjression  weighed  on  fSybil's  spirits — a  creeping 
feeling  of  horror  that  no  effort  could  shake  off.  She 
strove  to  rouse  herself — to  reason  herself  out  of  the  super- 
stitious dread  that  was  overwhelming  her,  but  in  vain. 
A  nameless  terror  had  clutched  her  heart  and  would  not 
relax  its  hold. 

And  so  the  liours  wore  on  and  midnight  approached. 
And  the  storm  without  seemed  to  have  shrieked  and  roared 
and  worn  itself  hoarse,  and  was  at  last  relapsing  into  sullen 
silence.  U'he  lire  on  the  hearth  was  burning  low  and  cast- 
ing wild  and  fantastic  shadows  through  the  gloomy  room. 
Aunt  Moll  lay  in  that  deep  deathlike  sleep  which  only  those 
of  her  race  enjoy,  and  her  deej)  breathing  sounded  plainly 
through  the  room.  Exhausted  with  the  excitement  of  the 
storm  and  her  own  thoughts,  Sybil  rose  and  prepared  her- 
self for  bed — hoping  to  lose  in  sleep  the  strange  feeling 
that  was  overpowering  her.  She  lay  down,  but  she  wooed 
the  drowsy  god  in  vain.     Sleep  would  not  come  at  her  call. 

A  deathlike  silence  reigned  within  the  old  house,  while 
the  storm  without  was  still  sullenly  grumbling.  It  was 
near  midnight,  and  Sybil  lay  with  her  liands  clasped  over 
her  forehead,  when  suddenly  she  heard  the  front  door  burst 
violently  open  ;  and  through  the  silent  house  arose  the 
wild,  terrific,  appalling  shriek  of  ''  Murder  !  " 


THAT  NIGUT. 


167 


inis- 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


'G 

le 


THAT    NHillT. 

"Como  madness  !  coino  with  me,  senseless  Jenth  I 
I  ciuinot  siifTer  this.     Here,  roclty  wiill, 
Scatter  these  bniins,  or  tlull  them  !  " 

-De  Mentfoiid. 

About  an  hour  before  tlie  storm  burst  u])on  the  island 
Ed^ar  Courtney,  tlie  victim  of  his  own  diabolical  passions, 
reached  it,  unseen  and  unobserved. 

"  You  -will  await  niv  return  here,"  he  said,  as  lie  was 
moving  away.     "  I  must  be  back  in  X before  morning." 

''  Don't  know  Mjout  that,"  said  the  boy  who  had  taken 
him  over  ;  '^  there's  an  awful  storm  rising  ;  but  if  you  ain't 
a-feared  to  venture  I  ain't." 

Mr.  Courtney  glanced  at  the  dark,  sullen  sky,  but  what 
was  the  storm  without  compared  with  the  storm  within  ? 
Leave  the  island  he  must  before  morning,  so  he  replied  : 

''I  must  go  back,  let  it  storm  as  it  wilL  You  can  re- 
main here,  sluiltered  under  these  rooks,  till  I  come  back." 

And,  wrapping  his  cloak  around  him,  he  moved  swiftly 
away  and  concealed  himself  behind  some  overhanging  trees 
to  await  the  result. 

The  spot  where  he  stood  commanded  a  view  of  the  sea 
on  all  sides.  And,  therefore,  when,  in  the  deepening  gloom, 
some  hours  after,  he  saw  a  boat  ai)proach  the  isle  contain- 
ing the  form  of  a  woman,  he  had  not  a  single  doubt  as  to 
who  that  woman  was. 

Oh,  the  demoniac  look  that  his  face  wore  at  that  instant ! 

His  face  upturned  to  the  bleak  light  was  that  of  a  fiend. 

Blinded  by  his    passions,  he  did  not  observe,  as    in  a 

calmer  moment  he  miglit  have  done,  even  in  the  gloom,  the 

difference  between   tliis   tall  figure  and   that  of  his  wife. 

He  only  saw  a  woman  landing  on  the  isle,  springing  up 
the  rocks  and  disappearing  in  the  darkness  ;  and  who 
but  Laura  would  have  ventured  to  the  isle  that  stormy 
night  ? 

When  the  night  fell  in  more  than  Egyi)tian  darkness, 
accompanied  by  wind  and  lightning  and  rain,  he  made  his 


168 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  TSLE. 


wjiy  blindly  throii^^h  it  nil  to  the  trystinc^  phioo  ;  and,  sliol- 
turod  behind  ji  I'lifiidly  rock,  lie  crounlicd  down  like  a 
panther  wailini;"  for  its  j)rey. 

'*  She  will  ii()t('<)jn(!  in  this  Htortn — she  cannot;  yon  will 
wait  in  vain,''  said  the  voice  of  reason,  tryin,:,^  faintly  to 
make  itself  heai'd. 

"  Slio  will  conic  I — she  will  !"  said  jealousv  ;  '*  she  has 
braved  the  storm  to  come  to  the  island,  and  thon^h  iiro 
shonid  fall  from  heavrn  she  will  keep  her  tryst.  Wait  ! 
wait  I  and  you  will  have  your  revenge." 

And  the  demon  voice  conquered. 


! 


Meantime,  how  went  the  night  in  the  widow's  cot  ? 

AVhen  wet,  dri[)ping,  soaked  through,  Carl  reached  the 
cottaue,  his  first  care  was  to  change  his  wet  clothes  and 
seat  himself  at  the  table,  where  a  smoking  supper  awaited 
him. 

Mrs.  Tom  held  up  her  hands  in  wonder  and  amazement 
when  she  heard  that  Sybil  had  braved  all  tliat  furious 
storm  to  come  to  the  isle. 

"  The  girl  must  be  clean  crazy  !  "  she  ejacnlated,  *'  to 
venture  on  the  stormy  sea  in  such  a  night.  I  do  wonder, 
thouii^h,  what  broufjjht  Miss  Svbil  here  to-nisjht." 

'' Dunno,"  said  Carl,  speaking  with  his  mouth  full  of 
griddle  cake  ;  ''she  was  talking  sort  o'  crazy  in  the  boat. 
S'pect  she  thought  that  Mr.  Drummond  was  here." 

Cliristie,  whose  white  fingers  were,  as  usual,  living  busily 
as  slie  plied  her  needle,  suddenly  fluslied  to  the  temples, 
anil  then  grew  paler  than  before.  She  knew  what  had 
brought  Sybil  to  the  island,  though  she  had  hardly  fancied 
she  would  have  ventured  out  in  such  a  storm. 

''  Oh  !  1  wish  it  had  been  clear  to-night,"  she  thougiit, 
lifting  her  head  and  listeniiig  anxiously  to  the  howling 
tempest. 

Lem,  true  to  his  ])romise,  had  faithfully  delivered  Drum- 
mond's  note  to  Christie  unobserved.  But  would  he  como 
in  all  this  storm  ? 

Some  vague  rumor  had  reached  her  ear  that  Miss  Camp- 
bell, the  beauty  and  heiress,  was  soon  to  be  the  bride  of 
Willard  Drummond.  She  did  not  believe  it — it  was  too 
monstrous,  too  dreadful — the   bare  possibility   of  such  a 


rv 


THAT  NIGHT. 


169 


(( 


to 


ill  of 
boat. 

nsily 
)les, 
had 
ncied 


;imp- 
11 0  of 
too 
cli  a 


vt 


tiling  \v:i8  m^ulllL'Ilill.!^^  IJiit  Sybil  lovecl  him,  iind  ini;^ht 
clicrisii  lioix'S  lliut  cnuM  never  \)v  rt'iiliztul  ;  and  ("liri.sLio 
felt  it  lier  duty,  des})it(3  iier  promise,  to  put  an  end  to  all 
tiiesc  liopos  oueo  and  forever  by  jirooiainiing  tiieir  luarriai^'e. 
Therefore,  she  had  seiz«'d  the  llrsl  (tpj)<)i'lunity  and  sent 
the  note  before  meuti<»ned  by  (.'aptaiu  Campbt  11. 

By  this  time  Carl  Henley  liad  despaLched  his  supjier  ; 
and,  lai)oriny  under  a  vague  impression  tluit  some  one 
■would  i)e  in  presently  to  carry  him  otf  by  foree,  as  Mr. 
Drummond  had  done  on  a  previous  occ^assion,  he  made  a 
liasly  exit  up  the  la<lder  to  bed,  lirinly  resolving  not  to  go 
out  again,  tliough  AunlT'om  should  pull  every  hair  out  of 
liis  head. 

And  wheu  he  was  gone  Mrs.  Tom,  having  secured  the 
windows  anil  doors,  drew  uplier  wiu^el  and  sat  down  to  s[)in. 
And  (Jiiristie,  with  cheeks  Hushed  and  eyes  bright  with 
anxiety  autl  impatience,  sewed  on  in  silence,  replying 
vaguely  and  at  random  to  the  stream  of  talk  kept  up  by 
]Mrs.  T(jm. 

There  were  many  anxious  thoughts  ])assing  through  the 
mind  of  the  young  girl.  Why  had  Willard  been  absent  for 
so  long  a  time — why  had  he  appointed  this  s,trange  mid- 
night meeting — would  he  venture  on  the  sea  in.nigiit  and 
storm  ?  And  if  ho  came,  what  would  his  visit  and  note 
portend  ?  His  matuur  Jnid  changed  fo  of  late  that,  in 
Sjiite  of  herself,  the  conviction  tlnit  he  already  repented  of 
his  hasty  nuirriage  forced  itself  upon  her  with  a  pang  like 
the  ])itterness  of  death. 

"  Oh,  I  might  have  known  I"  was  her  inward  cry,  ^'  that 
he,  so  rich,  so  handsome,  possessing  tlie  love  of  one  so 
beautiful  as  Sybil  Campbell,  could  never  be  content  with 
poor  little  mo.  Oh,  1  might  have  known  he  would  tire  of 
me  ;  but  I  was  crazed,  ;uid  believed  all  he  told  me.  Sonn> 
thing  vrarned  me  it  would  sooner  or  later  come  to  this  ; 
but  now  that  it  has  come,  it  does  not  make  it  anv  easier  to 
bear." 

•'  Well,"  said  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Tom,  at  this  instant 
breakiiig  upon  her  rev«'rie — as  she  stopped  lier  wheel  with 
a  jerk,  and  looked  sharply  into  Christie's  face — ''  I  would 
like  to  know  what's  got  into  you  to-night  ?  Here  I've 
asked  vou  three  blessed  times  to  hand  me  that  there  gownd, 
an'  you  don't  mind  me  no  more  tlian  if  I  -was  the  cat. 
S'pose   it's  the  latest  fashion  not   to  answer  your    elders 


III  ■ 


it  ,, 


IGO 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


wlien  they  speak  to  you.  "What  is  tlie  matter  with  the 
gal  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  hoar  yon," faltered  Christio,  turning  scarlet  ; 
*'  Tuy  liead  aches.  Please  excuse  me.  .1  didn't  mean  to 
offend." 

''  Better  go  to  bed,  then,  if  your  head  aches.  Time  we 
was  all  in  bed  for  that  matter.  No  use  settin'  up  a-wastin, 
of  candles  wl/en  we  can  get  up  airly  in  the  morning  jist  as 
well:  Gemini!  Iioav  it  blows,"  said  ^Nfrs.  'I'om,  as  she 
slipped  the  bands  off  her  wheel  and  carried  it  over  to  its 
accustomed  corner. 

Clad  of  the  permission,  Christie  arose  and  began  arrang- 
inir  her  bed  in  the  wooden  settle  in  the  kitchen,  where  she 
slept.  And  Mrs.  Tom,  who  preferred  sleeping  by  herself, 
sought  her  own  couch,  where,  by  the  combined  effects  of 
a  light  heart  and  a  clear  conscience,  slie  was  soon  in  the  land 
of  dreams.  Relieved  of  the  presence  of  the  inquisitive  old 
lady,  Christie  wrapped  liersolf  in  her  mantle,  tied  on  her 
liood  and  softly  opened  the  door.  The  storm  was  at  its 
height,  and  the  sudden  entrance  of  a  rush  of  wind  and  rain 
sent  all  the  loose  articles  lying  about  whirling  through  the 
room. 

It  was  awful  to  venture  out  in  such  a  storm  ;  but  had 
the  tempest  raged  twice  as  wildly  the  faithful,  loving  child- 
wife  would  have  braved  it  all  to  meet  him  she  loved.  Ex- 
erting all  her  strength  she  closed  the  door  after  her  with- 
out arousing  the  sleepers,  and  quitted  the  house  she  was 
destined  never  to  enter  more  ! 

On — through  the  falling  rain,  the  driving  wind,  the  vivid 
lightning — she  plunged,  making  her  way  blindly  through 
it  all.  it  was  well  she  knew  the  road  she  was  traversing, 
and  could  pursue  her  way  as  well  at  midnight  as  at  noon- 
day, or  she  had  never  been  .^-ble  to  follow  that  tortuous, 
winding,  rocky  path. 

lUit,  shrinking  and  blinded  by  the  rain,  at  times  she  was 
forced  to  stop  and  cover  her  face  in  her  mantle  ;  and  anon, 
as  some  more  furious  blast  would  have  whirled  her  away  as 
though  she  had  been  a  feather,  she  grasped  some  project- 
ing rock  or  tree  to  prevent  herself  from  being  blown  over 
the  crags  ;  but  she  toiled  on  to  her  destination. 

"  Will  he  be  there  ?  "  she  said  wildly.  "  Oh,  if  after  all 
he  should  not  come  !  To  seems  madness  for  me  to  expect 
him  in  such  a  storm ;  but  if  he  should,  it  would  never  do 


THAT  NIGHT. 


161 


to 


for  me  to  be  absent.  Ob,  saints  in  beaven,  wliat  liglit- 
ning  !  "  sbe  said,  as,  pale  witb  terror,  sbe  bid  ber  face  in 
ber  bands. 

But  tbere  was  no  time  to  pause — even  now  be  migbt  be 
waiting  for  lier  on  tlie  beacb  ;  and  still  on  tlirougb  nigbt 
and  rain  and  storm  sbe  pressed  until  at  List,  drenched, 
dripping  and  totally  exhausted,  sbe  gained  the  wet,  slippery 
beach. 

Half  dead  witb  cold  and  exbanstion,  slie  sank  on  a  rock 
and  cowered  bcneatb  the  pitiless  blast.  The  dull  booming 
of  the  waves  sent  a  thrill  of  nameless  awe  and  horror  into 
ber  very  soul. 

She  could  not  long  sit  tliere  exposed  to  tbe  peltings  of 
tbe  storm  ;  so,  wrapping  ber  mantle  still  more  closely 
arou'id  ber,  sbe  rose  with  a  sbiver  and  strove  to  i)ierce 
tbrougb  tbe  thick  darkness  in  searcli  of  that  loved 
form. 

In  vain  !  Tbe  gloom  of  Hades  could  not  be  deeper  than 
tbat  wbicb  enveloped  every  object.  But  at  tbat  instant 
tbere  came  a  tlasli  of  lightning,  illuminating  for  a  single 
moment,  witb  a  blue,  unearthly  glare,  the  bleak,  slippery 
shingle,  and  revealing  the  black,  heaving  sea,  with  its 
foam-crested  billows.  Nothing  more  I  As  far  as  she 
could  strain  ber  eyes,  no  living  thing  but  berself  stood  on 
tbe  sbore. 

"  Ob,  why  does  be  not  come  ?  "  wjis  ber  beart's  agonized 
cry  ;  *'docs  be  not  know,  in  spite  of  storm  and  tempest,  I 
am  awaitins:  him  here  I" 

Another  tlasli  of  lightning  !  revealing  tbe  dark,  deserted 
beacb,  the  wildly  sbrieki\g  ocean,  and  a  pair  of  gleaming, 
serpent-like  eyes,  watching  from  behind  a  rock — revealing 
tbe  sligbt,  delicate  form  of  a  female  standing  alone  on  the 
sbore. 

"Oh,  be  will  not  come!  I  know  it!  Shall  I  stay 
bere  longer,  or  shall  I  go  home  ?"  thougbt  Christie,  in  an 
agony  of  doubt. 

Still  another  blue,  lurid  blaze  of  flame  !  And  now, 
looking  up,  sbe  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  ;  for  tbe  tall  figure  of 
a  man,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  was  seen  descending  the  rocks, 
coming  toward  ber. 

"Ob,  be  is  bere  !  be  is  bere!"was  ber  joyful  cry. 
" Dearest,  dearest  Willard  !  I  knew  yon  would  come!" 
And,  springing  forward,  sbe  tbrew  herself  into  bis  arms. 


•ii 


162 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


h 


strange 


He  did  not  speak — he  did  not  move — only  he  drew  a 
step  back  and  folded  his  arms  over  his  breast. 

*•  Dearest  Wilhird  !  I  feared  you  would  not  come  ;  but 
oh,  1  am  so  ghid  you  are  with  me  once  more  ! "  And  her 
encircling  arms  chisped  him  closer,  wliile  her  sunny  liead 
sank  on  his  breast. 

With  the  storm  within  and  the  storm  without,  he  heard 
not,  heeded  not,  the  name  of  Wilhird.  But  another  flash 
of  heaven's  fire  showed  him  a  sliglit,  slender  form,  with 
the  shining  golden  hair  of  his  faithless  wife. 

And  now,  for  the  first   time,   she  noticed  his 
silence,  and  lifted  her  sweet  face  in  surprise,  saying 

''  Wliat  is  the  matter  ?  Why  do  you  not  speak  to  me  ? 
What  have  I  done  ?  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  if  I  have  angered 
you.  What,  what  have  I  done  ?  Oh,  indeed,  I  love  you 
more  than  life  !  " 

His  teeth  closed  together  with  a  galvanic  snap,  his  eyes 
were  like  two  living  coals  set  in  a  ghastly  skull,  and  his 
hand  clutched  sometliiug  within  the  folds  of  his  cloak 
with  a  convulsive  grasp. 

And  still  she  clung  to  him,  and  still  he  maintained  that 
strange  silence. 

*'  Tell  me  what  I  have  done  !  Speak  to  me  or  I  shall 
die  !  "  she  cried  out  in  anguish  and  terror.  *'  Oh,  indeed, 
I  love  you  better  than  any  one  in  the  world  !  I  would 
die  sooner  than  offend  you." 

^'  Die  then,"  fairly  shrieked  the  maddened  man  ;  "  die, 
since  your  own  lips  have  proclaimed  your  guilt  !  "  And, 
clutching  her  fiercely  by  the  throat,  he  plunged  the  hid- 
den knife  into  her  side. 

One  piercing,  terrific  shriek,  and  she  sank  writhing, 
quivering  at  his  foot  in  mortal  agony.  And  the  wretched 
maniac  above  her,  unable  to  move  or  think,  with  distend- 
ing eyeballs,  glazing  eyes — his  ghastly  face  like  that  of 
the  <lead — his  trembling  hands  rod  with  her  life  blood — 
stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  caring  not,  feeling  not  the 
furious  storm  now. 

Was  she  dead  ?  Would  that  wild,  appalling  shriek  be 
repeated  ?  He  listened,  palsied  with  horror.  Naught 
met  his  ear  but  the  shrieking  of  the  wnrring  elements. 

Just  at  that  instant  tliore  came  a  blaze  of  lightning,  as 
though  heaven  and  earth  were  on  fire,  and  he  beheld  that 
little,  childlike  form  lying  stiff  and  rigid  at  his  feet,  the 


THAT  NIGHT. 


163 


Id— 

the 


be 

Ight 


as 
Ihut 
the 


head  fallen  back,  tlie  blue  lips  parted,  as  if  from  them 
the  quivering  ccul  luid  taken  its  flight  ;  the  arms  lying 
limp  and  lifeless  by  her  side  ;  the  bright,  golden  hair  half 
shading  the  cold,  beautiful  face  on  which  the  pitiless  rain 
wildly  beat. 

All  his  jealousy,  his  hatred,  passed  away  with  that 
pitiful  sight  ;  and  the  passionate  love,  the  adoring  wor- 
ship his  heart  had  once  felt  for  her  returned  like  a  swell- 
ing flood.  The  memory  of  the  time  when  she  had  left 
home  and  friends  and  all  to  fly  with  him — when  she  had 
first  been  his  loved  and  loving  bride — bright,  hap])y  and 
beautiful — came  back  in  overwhelming  force.  And  now 
she  was  dead — dead  by  his  hand  ! 

'*  Oh,  my  God  I  my  God  !  what  have  I  done  ?  Oh, 
my  wife  !  my  wife  !  my  beautiful,  murdered  Laura  !  Oh, 
what  have  I  done  ?  My  love,  speak — look  up  I  live  for 
me  once  more  !  Oh,  she  is  dead,  and  I  am  her  mur- 
derer ! "  And  with  a  shriek  of  agony  the  wretched  man 
fell  prone  on  his  face  beside  her. 

}3ut  now  there  came  another  sound  more  terrible  than 
all  else.  Swollen  by  the  heavy  rain,  the  sea  was  rising  on 
the  island. 

With  the  roar  of  a  beast  of  prey  the  furious  waves  lasli- 
ing  themselves  into  foam,  ruslied  upon  the  shore.  It  re- 
called the  miserable  assassin  from  his  frenzy  of  despair ; 
arid,  with  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  that  never 
deserts  us  wliile  life  remains,  he  seized  the  cold,  stark 
form  and  flew  wildly  up  the  beach. 

But  just  then — had  the  infernal  regions  yielded  up  their 
hosts  to  pursue  him  ? — a  human  form,  wearing  the  figure 
of  a  woman,  revealed  by  the  quick  flashes  of  lightning, 
came  flying  toward  him,  lier  uncovered  hair  streaming  in 
the  gale — her  wild  eyes  glaring  with  the  fires  of  madness. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  him  and  his  bleeding  burden  at  the 
same  instant  ;  and,  throwing  up  her  arms,  with  a  picr(;ing 
cry  of  "  Murder  !  murder  !  "  that  pealed  high  above  the 
raging  of  the  storm,  she  fled  in  the  direction  of  Oanjp- 
bell's  Lodge. 

That  appalling  cry,  that  awful  apparition,  drove  the 
last  spark  of  reason  from  his  maddening  brain.  With  a 
perfect  yell  of  tei'ror  he  flung  his  lifeless  burden  on  the 
rocks  and  fled,  as  if  pursued  by  the  avenger  of  blood, 
from  the  spot. 


1 1 


prPT" 


■  '    '  t 


!'!; 


'■     i  - 


mm 


\i  I 


1^ 


164 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

NEXT  MOKXIXG. 

"  Between  the  enacting  of  a  dreadful  deed 
And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  the  phantasma  of  a  hideous  dream." 

—Shakespeare. 

With  blood  on  liis  hands,  with  liorror,  insanity  and 
wildest  woe  in  his  eyes  ;  and,  oh,  worse,  far  worse  !  witii 
the  dreadful  mark  of  Cain  branded  indelibly  on  his  brow, 
the  wretched  man  fled — hating  himself,  his  crime,  the 
earth  and  heaven — only  longing  to  fly  far  away,  where 
human  eyes  would  never  more  behold  him,  clutching  his 
breast  with  his  pale,  talon-like  fingers,  as  if  to  tear  hence 
liis  insufferable  agony  and  remorse. 

On  he  went — flying  over  rocks,  and  chasms,  and  up- 
rooted trees — on,  on,  still  on,  unable  to  stop.  The  waves 
were  wildly,  madly  cannonading  against  the  banks,  as  if 
they  would  tear  their  way  to  where  he  stood  and  boldly 
engulf  him  ;  but  he  heard  nothing,  save  that  ujiearthly 
cry  of  "  Murder  ! "  saw  nothing  but  the  cold,  still  face 
and  lifeless  form  of  his  murdered  wife. 

Panting,  tottering,  exhausted,  he  fell  heavily  at  last 
on  the  ground — shuddering,  gasping,  collapsed.  The 
deafening  roar  of  the  waves  still  rising  and  booming  on 
the  beach,  the  crash  of  the  thunder,  the  wild  discord  of 
the  raging  elements  were  serenest  music,  compared  with 
the  tumult,  the  terror  and  tlie  unspeakable  horror  filling 
his  soul.  'MVhat  have  I  done? — wliat  have  I  done?" 
was  the  cry  that  still  rived  its  way  up  through  his  tor- 
tured heart.  And  the  wind  and  waves,  in  their  terrific 
uproar,  seemed  answering  the  cry  with  '^Murder!  mur- 
der ! " 

Midnight  approached,  and  the  storm  began  to  abate, 
the  rain  ceased  to  fall,  and  the  mighty  waters  began  sul- 
lenly retreating  from  the  shore. 

But  still  the  stricken  man  lay  prone  on  tlie  ground, 
dead  to  everything  above,  around,  about  him,  with  that 
gnawing,  unutterable  remorse  at  his  heart. 


I 


NEXT  MORNING. 


165 


■1    ' 


?" 


I 


Another  hour  waned.  The  clouds  rolled  away,  the 
lightning  had  ceased,  the  wind  abated  its  fury,  and  the 
troubled,  heaving  waves  were  slowly  calming  down. 
And  suddenly  froin  behind  a  cloud  broke  forth  the  moon 
— brightly,  gloriously,  grandly  shedding  htr  soft,  silvery 
radiance  over  sea  and  land. 

For  the  first  time  the  murderer  ventured  to  look  up. 
Morning  was  near  at  hand,  and  must  not  find  him  at  the 
scene  of  the  tragedy. 

''What  is  to  be  done  next?"  was  the  thought  that 
arose  through  all  the  distracting  rush  of  grief,  horror 
and  remorse.     ''  She  will  be  missed  ;  and  if  1  j)m  found 

here,  I  will  be  taken  for  the  murderer  and "'     And  a 

shuddering  spasm  closed  the  sentence. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  but  tottered  so  he  could  hardly 
walk  ;  and,  as  if  horrified  by  some  uncontrollable  impulse, 
took  the  road  leading  to  the  beach. 

lie  reached  the  spot  where,  in  his  wild  impulse  of  terror, 
he  had  dropped  the  body  ;  but  far  beyond  that  the  waves 
had  risen,  and  the  lifeless  form  was  gone — swept  away  by 
the  boiling  waters. 

A  groan,  so  deep  and  hollow  that  it  seemed  rending 
his  very  heart,  broke  from  his  lips  at  the  sight — his  mur- 
dered Laura  had  found  a  grave  in  the  boundless  sea. 

A  footstep  behind  met  his  ear,  and  in  terror  he  turned 
to  fly  ;  but  seeing  only  the  half-witted  boy  who  had 
brought  him  over,  he  restrained  himself  and  stood  still. 

Even  through  the  dull  mist  of  his  clouded  brain  the 
ghastly  face  before  him  struck  terror  to  the  boy's  soul. 
And  well  it  might  ;  for  with  that  white,  deathlike  face, 
branded  with  a  look  of  unutterable  horror  ;  those  ashen 
lips  ;  sunken,  colhipsed  cheeks  ;  glazing  eyes,  shudder- 
ing form  and  trembling  hands,  he  looked  like  a  corpse 
galvanized  for  a.  moine.it  into  a  hideous  semblance  of  life. 

The  words  he  had  been  about  to  say  died  away  on  the 
boy's  lips  ;  and  with  distended  mouth,  and  eyes  all  agapo 
with  surprise  and  fear,  he  stared  at  him  in  stupid  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  Well  ?  "  came  at  length  from  Courtney's  lips,  in  a 
voice  so  hollow  that  it  seemed  to  issue  from  an  empty 
coffin. 

''What's  the  matter?"  said  the  boy,  "frightened  by 
the  storm  ?  " 


lll-i 


1: 


166 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


morning  breaks  ?  "  he 


"  What  do  you  want  ? "  again  came  in  deep,  husky 
tones  from  his  livid  lips. 

'*  Wliy,  you  said  you  wanted  to  get  back  afore  morning, 
and  I  reckon  we  can  start  now.  The  sea  runs  pretty  high 
yet,  but  I  guess  there  ain't  no  danger." 

Like  a  man  in  u,  dream,  Courtney  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow,  as  though  to  clear  away  a  cloud.  Again  self- 
preservation,  "  the  first  law  of  nature,"  rose  before  him, 
overcoming  every  other  feeling.  His  eyes  wandered  me- 
chanically to  the  fatal  spot,  and  he  turned  away  witli  a 
shudder. 

*'  Can  we  reach  N before 

asked. 

*'  I  reckon  so,"  was  the  answer,  "  if  we  start  now." 

''  Do  you  think  there  is  any  danger  ?  " 

"  Don't  think  there  is  ;  you'll  be  apt  to  be  seasick, 
though,"  siud  the  boy  ;  "  waves  run  pooty  high  ;  bnt  what 
makes  you  speak  so  hoarse  and  look  so  scared,  as  if  you'd 
seed  a  ghost  ?  P'r'aps  you  did,  too  ;  they  say  there's  one 
up  in  that  old  house  there." 

'*  Let  us  go,"  said  Courtney,  unheeding  his  words,  as 
he  folded  his  cloak  closer  around  him,  and  started  in  the 
direction  of  the  boat. 

The  boy  shuffled  after  him  to  where  the  boat  now  lay 
high  and  dry  on  the  strand,  requiring  the  united  efforts 
of  both  to  launch  her  into  the  water. 

'^  Precious  hard  time  I  had  of  it  all  night  in  the 
storm,"  said  the  lud,  as  he  took  the  oars;  *'got 
soaked  right  through  ;  and,  by  golly  !  if  there  wasn't 
some  thunder  !  I  never  wants  to  be  out  such  a  night 
again." 

The  boat  was  pitching  and  tossing  wildly  on  the  heaving 
waves,  threatening  each  moment  to  capsize  ;  but  Courtney, 
lost  to  all  sense  of  personal  danger,  sat  striving  to  dispel 
the  cloud  of  horror  and  remorse  from  his  mind,  and 
answer  the  momentous  question:  **What  is  to  be  done 
next  ?"  His  wife  would  assuredly  be  missed.  How  was 
her  sudden  disappearance  to  be  accounted  for  ?  It  seemed 
probable  that  none  but  Captain  Campbell  knew  of  her  in- 
tended visit  to  tlie  isle,  save  the  boy  who  had  brougiit  her 
over ;  and,  in  waiting  on  the  dark,  dangerous  beach,  in 
such  a  wild  tempest — with  the  advancing  tide  rising  on 
the  shore — what  would  be  more  natural  than  that  she  had 


f 


i 


c 


« 


NEXT  MORNING. 


107 


been  accidentally  overtaken  and  swept  away  by  the  rapid 
rising  of  the  waves  ? 

The  mist  was  passing  away  from  his  mind,  liis  burning 
fever  of  excitement  was  abated  by  the  cool  sea  breeze,  and 
every  faculty,  preternaturally  sharpened  by  the  fear  of 
being  discovered  as  a  murderer,  was  at  work.  Of  the 
stupid  lad  who  had  brought  him  to  the  island  he  felt  no 
fear.  Before  the  coming  day's  sun  had  set  he  would,  in 
all  probability,  have  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  none  else 
knew  of  the  visit.  He  would  endeavor  to  hide  all  traces 
of  guilt,  and  be  the  most  zealous  in  the  search  after  the 
lost  one.  Perhaps,  too,  suspicion  might  fasten  on  Captain 
Campbell,  and  then  how  amply  would  he  be  revenged  ! 
He  thought  of  the  note  appointing  the  meeting,  and  felt 
in  his  pockets  for  it,  but  it  was  gone.  No  matter  ;  so 
that  he  himself  was  not  criminated,  it  mattered  not. 

Then  came  another  thought  :  How  was  he  to  account 
for  his  absence  during  the  night  ?  It  seemed  scarcely 
probable  that  his  wife  had  told  any  of  the  inmates  of  the 
parsonage  of  their  angry  parting  and  his  brutal  blow — 
she  had  too  much  pride  for  that  —and  they  could  easily  be 
made  to  believe  that  sudden  business  had  called  him  away. 
Doubtless,  they  would  think  it  strange  he  had  not  told 
them  before  going  ;  but  as  he  had  already  acquired  a 
character  for  eccentricity  from  his  gloomy  reserve,  it  would 
readily  be  set  down  to  that.  He  had  business  at  Wcstport 
— he  would  go  there — remain  for  some  hours,  and  return 
to  N before  night. 

His  plans,  thus  rapidly  arranged,  he  proceeded  to  carry 
immediately  into  execution.  Lifting  liis  head  he  said, 
briefly  : 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  will  not  go  to  Newport. 
Take  me  to  Westport." 

Regarding  him  for  a  moment  with  his  customary  vacant 
stare,  the  boy,  without  a  word,  turned  the  boat  in  the 
direction  indicated. 

The  rising  sun  was  reddening  the  orient  before  they 
reached  Westport.  And  Edgar  Courtney,  having  paid  the 
bov,  dismissed  him,  and  sauntered  about  the  town  until 
the  business  of  the  day  would  begin. 

Gradually  the  streets  began  to  fill  ;  men  on  their  way 
to  their  daily  labor  passed  him  in  groups,  now  and  then 
stopping   to  gaze  in  wonder  at  the  tall,  muffled   figure, 


il 


rr^ 


r 


I" 


r  ■ 


fi  ' 


fl 


168 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


pacing  through  the  streets  as  though  lie  were  hastening 
for  life  or  death.  He  noticed  this  scrutiny  at  last,  and 
slackened  his  rapid  strides,  muttering  inwardly  : 

*^  This  will  never  do.  I  must  not  allow  my  feelings  to 
carry  me  away  thus.  I  must  be  calm,  or  I  may  be  sus- 
pected.    Nothing  but  coolness  will  save  me  now.'' 

Turning  down  the  collar  of  his  cloak,  and  pushing  up 
his  hat,  that  the  cool  morning  air  might  fan  his  feverish 
brow,  he  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Westport  House. 

The  door  had  just  been  opened,  and  the  rooms  had  that 
dreary,  uncomfortable  look  large  lonely  rooms  always  wear 
in  the  gray  dawn  of  the  morning.  A  yawning  waiter,  half 
asleep,  passed  him,  staring  with  lack-luster  eyes,  as  though 
he  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  a  slipshod,  frizzle-headed 
chamber-maid  uttered  a  faint  scream  as  her  eyes  fell  on 
his  haggard  face  and  v/et  garments. 

"  Let  me  have  a  private  room  immediately,"  was  his 
command  to  the  waiter. 

**Yes,  sir;  this  way,  sir,"  said  the  man,  recovering 
from  his  surprise  at  the  entrance  of  so  strange-looking  an 
individual. 

He  ushered  him  into  a  neat,  comfortably  furnished 
room,  and  Courtney  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  said  : 

'^  Light  a  fire  here,  and  bring  me  up  a  cigar  and  a  cup 
of  strong  coffee." 

'*A  fire,  sir  ?"  said  the  waiter,  surprised  at  such  a 
demand  in  summer. 

*'  Yes,  sir,  a  fire  ;  did  I  not  speak  plainly  enough  ?" 
said  Courtney,  in  a  tone  that  sent  the  man  hastily  from 
the  room. 

With  his  garments  soaked  through,  he  began  to  feel 
cold  and  chilled  ;  though  in  the  fever  of  his  mind,  up  to 
the  present,  he  had  not  observed  it.  A  fire  was  soon 
kindled,  and  spreading  his  cloak  and  outer  clothes  before 
it  to  dry,  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed  to  try  and  lose  the 
maddening  recollection  of  the  past  night  in  sleep. 

Totally  exhausted  by  fatigue  and  excitement,  he  suc- 
ceeded at  last,  but  only  to  react  over  again  in  his  dreams 
the  catastrophe  of  tlie  preceding  hours.  Again  he  saw 
the  lifeless  form  of  his  murdered  wife  Ivin^  stark  and 
rigid  at  his  feet ;  then  would  flit  before  his  horror-stricken 
gaze  the  ghostly  apparition  of  the  isle,  with  its  wild, 
terrific  shriek  of  "  Murder  !  "  then  the  gallows,  the  coffin, 


I     ! 


NEXT  MORNING. 


169 


the  hangman,  with  all  the  fearful  paraphernalia  of  the 
felon's  death,  would  rise  in  ghastly  array  before  his  dis- 
torted imagination  ;  he  could  feel  the  very  rope  encircling 
his  neck,  and  by  some  strange  contradiction,  his  wife, 
bright,  beautiful  and  happy  as  he  had  first  known  her, 
stood  smilingly  adjusting  it,  and  stranger  still,  he  folt  no 
Bur])rise  at  seeing  her  there  ;  he  heard  the  fatal  signal 
given,  the  drop  sliding  from  beneath  his  feet,  and  with  a 
shriek  of  terror  he  sprang  up  out  of  bed,  tlie  cold  per- 
spiration starting  out  from  every  pore. 

*^  Great  heaven  !  am  I  never  to  lose  tlie  recollection  of 
that  last  fearful  night,  and  my  more  awful  crime  ?  Oh, 
for  the  fabled  waters  of  Jjctho  to  drown  recollection  ! 
Must  I  forever  go  through  the  world  with  this  mark  of 
Cain — this  red-hot  brand  of  murd(>r  on  my  face  as  well  as 
on  my  soul  ?  Saints  in  heaven  I  should  this  dream  j)rove 
true  ! " 

The  guilty  man  paused,  while  his  whole  frame  shook 
and  his  teeth  chattered  as  though  he  had  the  ague. 

''And  yet  it  need  not,  unless  this  paltry  cowardice  of 
mine  betrays  me,"  he  again  cried,  starting  wildly  up  tind 
pacing  through  the  room.     "  Jlow  many  murderers  walk 
in  the  open  sunshine,   in  the  broad  face  of  day,  through 
the  very  heart  of  our  most  crowded  cities,  with  impunity  I 
It   only   requires   nerve,    couraue,    boldness,  to  face  the 
worst,    and  I  can  defy  Satan  liimself  and  all   his  hosts. 
Others  have   committed   murder  before  me  without  any 
provocation  to  excuse  them,   and  it  troubled  them  not. 
Why,  then,  should  I,  who  only  acted  in  vindication  of  my 
wounded  honor  ? — and  if  ever  murder  is  excusable,  surely 
it  was  in  my  case.     AVhy  should  I  tremble,  and  shrink 
from  my  very  shadow  ?     Courage,  coward  soul  !     These 
dreams  and  phantoms  of  a  disordered  brain  will  ])ass  away 
w^itli  time.     When  this  affair  in  some  degree  blows  over,  I 
will  hasten  to  London — to  Paris,  and  in  the  excitement 
and   turmoil   of  a  great  city  forget  the  miserable    past. 
Courage,  Edgar  Courtney  !     Thou  hast  begun  a  des})erate 
game,   and   all  thy  boldness   is    required    to    carry    thee 
through  !      Yes,  I  will  })ut  a  bold  face  on  it,  and  dare  the 
worst.     And  now,    Satan — for  on  thee  alone  dare   I   call 
now — help  me  in  this  extremity,  if  never  thou  didst  help 
me  before  ! " 

He    paused  before  the  glass  with  clenched  hands  and 


170 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


ii. 


) , 


I ' 


;   ')!' 


M  I 

Mi  1 

1:-! 


teeth,  and  almost  sturtcMl  to  see  the  wild,  fierce  look  his 
gliustly  face  wore.  IJi.s  long  elf  locks  fell  in  wild  dis- 
order over  his  face  and  neck,  and  adtled  to  the  haggard 
pallor  of  his  countenance. 

"This  craven  face  will  never  do,"  he  said;  *' I  must 
compose  it.  And  this  disheveled  hair  must  not  Ining  thug 
disordered.  Shii  used  to  twine  it  round  her  fingers  once," 
he  said,  the  look  of  agonizing  sorrow  and  remorse  coming 
back  ;  "  init  that  time  long  ago  |)Mssed  away.  I  must  not 
think  oT  it  more — let  me  ojily  think  of  this  man  for  whose 
love  she  forgot  she  was  already  a  wife.^' 

The  thought  did  bring  a  sort  of  fierce  composure. 
Brushing  back  the  heavy  black  hair  off  his  face  and  brow, 
he  threw  on  his  now  dry  cloak,  lit  one  of  the  cigars  that 
lay  on  the  table,  and  then  rang  a  peal  that  presently 
brought  up  one  of  the  servants.  When  the  man  entered 
Coiirlney  was  lying  back  in  tlie  pillowy  depths  of  a 
lounging  chair,  ins  feet  extended  to  the  fire,  looking  as  ho 
sinoked,  or  rather  trying  to  look,  tlie  very  picture  of  non- 
chalance. It  was  a  miserable  failure  after  all — as  tho 
wildly  gleaming  eyes  still  testified. 

*'  Breakfast,"  he  said,  briefly,  to  the  bowing  waiter. 

"  Yes,  sir — what  will  you  please  to  have,  sir  ?" 

*' Anything — coffee — waffles.  I  don't  care  what,  only 
be  quick  I  " 

The  man  disappeared,  and  presently  returned  with 
fragrant  coffee,  delicious  waffles  and  eggs. 

Courtney  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and  drank  cup 
after  cup  of  the  strong  coffee  ;  but  the  first  morsel  he 
attempted  to  swallow  seemed  to  choke  him. 

The  grateful  beverage  soothed  his  excited  nerves  more 
speedily  than  all  his  reasoning  and  philosophy  had  done. 

Drawing  out  his  watch  and  perceiving  it  was  after  ten, 
he  arose,  put  on  his  hat,  and  having  settled  his  bill,  was 
about  to  leave  the  house,  when  he  was  suddenly  con- 
fronted by  Captain  Guy  Campbell,  who  came  running  up 
the  outer  steps,  laughing  at  something  that  had  occurred 
outside. 

For  one  moment  the  guilty  soul  of  Courtney  quailed  be- 
fore the  bold,  bright  glance  of  the  young  captain's  eye. 
For  one  moment  only  ;  the  next,  he  looked  up  and  met 
his  gaze  with  one  of  deep,  sullen  hate. 

Touching  his  hat  coldly,  the  young  captain  passed  on, 


NEXT  MORNING. 


171 


anil  Courtney  emerged  into  the  Htrcei,  isl]  his  fierce  hatred 
and  jealousy  returning  uith  fourfold  hitlerness  at  the 
thought  of  the  contrast  between  tlicni — he  himself  so 
ghastly,  so  pallid,  so  haggard,  and  this  lover  of  his  dead 
wife  so  handsome,  dashing  and  careless. 

*^  Heaven's  worse  curses  forever  light  upon  him!''  he 
liisscd,  liercoly.  "That  he — he  who  has  caused  me  to  do 
what  I  have  done — should  be  ha})})y,  llattercd  and  beloved, 
while  I,  whom  he  drove  to  madness,  should  be  doomed  to 
a  life  of  torture  I  They  tell  us  of  hell  ;  though  J  doubted 
its  existence  once,  I  do  so  no  longer,  for  1  feel  already 
some  of  its  torments." 

And  any  one  seeing  the  demoniiic  look  his  face  wore, 
would  not  have  doubted  liis  words  at  tluit  instant.  En- 
tering a  livery  stable,  he  hired  a  horse  and  gig,  and  imme- 
diately started  in  the  direction  of  Newport. 

He  dreaded  the  coming  scone,  and  the  false  part  ho 
would  have  to  act  in  it  ;  and  yet,  as  if  impelled  by  some  in- 
ward power,  over  which  he  luid  no  control,  he  whipped 
and  lashed  the  liorse  in  a  sort  of  frenzy  of  impatience  to  be 
there.  On  he  Hew,  his  horse  foaming  and  rooking  with 
sweat — houses,  people,  streets,  passing  with  the  velocity 
of  a  dream,  and  yet  all  too  slow  for  the  burning,  numiac 
impatience  that  was  consuming  him. 

He  reached  N ,  and  consigning  his  panting  horse  to 

the  care  of  an  innkeeper,  within  half  a  mile  of  the  par- 
sonage, he  set  out  for  it  at  a  rapid  walk.  Ten  minutes 
brought  him  to  it,  and  in  spite  of  his  haste,  he  paused,  as 
its  sober,  gray  front  and  green  window  shutters  rose  before 
him,  while  a  vague  thrill  of  nameless  terror  shot  through 
him. 

It  was  no  time  to  hesitate  now  ;  the  worst  must  be  faced 
at  once.  Drawing  his  breath  in  hard,  he  approaidied  the 
door  and  rang. 

The  summons  was  answered  by  Jenny.  As  he  passed 
into  the  hall,  he  encountered  ]\trs.  I>riintwell  coming  down 
stairs.  That  good  lady's  i)leasant,  cheery  face  wore  a  look 
of  unusual  gravity  as  she  greeted  him,  that  for  a  moment 
startled  him  out  of  his  composure. 

**  It  is  my  wish  to  see  my  wife,  madam,"  he  managed  to 
say,  while  every  word  seemed  choking  him. 

*' Your  wife  is  in  the  parlor,  Mr.  Courtney,"  said  Mrs. 
Brantwell,  gravely,  as  she  held  open  the  door  for  him  to 


il 


w 


I 


179 


THE  QUKEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


enter — ascribing  liis  cvitlont  agitation  to  a  far  ilifTercnt 
cause. 

For  one  moment,  liin  wild  mjiniac  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
her  witii  a  lool<  that  actually  terrified  tlie  good  minister's 
wife.  Keeling  unsteadily,  us  tliough  he  had  been  auddeidy 
Btruck  a  violent  blow,  ho  passed  lier  and  entered  the 
parlor. 

And  there  before  him  on  the  sofa,  supported  by  pillows, 
lier  little  pale  face  looking  out  from  its  masses  of  lloating, 
golden  Jiair,  with  a  look  of  beseeeliing  entreaty  to  ))v  for- 
given, Ijiy  she  whom  lie  supposed  buried  forever  under  the 
wild  waves.  For  an  instant,  he  stood  paralyzed,  speecli- 
less,  with  ashen  face  ami  <lilatinfj  ^'ves.  And  then  thehisfc 
glimpse  of  hope  jind  reason  lied  ;  and  with  a  terrific  cry 
that  froze  the  life  blood  of  the  hearers,  the  wretched  nnm 
fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 


CIIAPTKJl  XXIII. 

MORNIXG    IN   THE    IST.AXD. 

"  And  she  was  {rone,  and  yet  tliey  breathed, 
Hut  not  the  breath  of  human  life — 
A  serpent  round  eacli  heart  was  wreathed, 
And  stung  tlieir  every  thought  to  strife'" 

—Byron. 

And  how  dawned  that  morn  on  CampbelTs  Lodge  ? 
How  on  the  widow's  cot  ? 

With  that  appalling  shriek  that  most  terrible  of  all 
cries,  that  unearthly  scream  of  "'Murder!"  ringing  in 
her  ears,  Sybil  sprang  from  her  sleepless  couch,  and 
while  her  very  lieart  thrilled  with  horror,  waited  for  what 
was  to  come  next. 

Through  the  lonely,  silent  old  house  it  echoed  and  re- 
echoed like  a  knell  of  doom,  but  it  was  not  repeated.  She 
could  hear  the  wild  wind  rushing  through  the  open  door, 
awakening  strange,  ghostly  noises  through  the  high,  empty 
rooms,  but  nothing  else. 

What  had  happened  ?  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Was  it 
only  fancy  ?  Had  she  been  dreaming,  and  was  that  cry  of 
*'  Murder  ! "  only  a  delusion  after  all  ? 

"No,  it  could  not  be  ;  for  just  as  she  was  beginning  to 
think  it  was  only  the  effect  of  fancy,  she  distinctly  heard 


MORNING  IN  tup:  ISLAND. 


173 


footsteps  flying  up  the  stairs — a  light,  fleet  step  that  panscd 
at  her  own  door. 

There  it  li!ilt(Ml,  and  Sybil's  lieart  stood  still.  It  was  but 
for  an  instatit,  then  tiic  same  piercing  cry  of  *'  Murder  I " 
rang  througli  the  lonely  house  once  more,  the  (juick,  ligh!: 
footstep  fled  down  the  loiig,  winding  staircase  a.Lrain,  ])a.ssed 
tiirougli  tlie  eciioiiig  hall  l)elo\v,  and  tiien  the  large,  heavy 
front  door  was  slammed  to  with  a  violence  thai  made  tho 
old  house  shake,  and  all  was  again  })rofoundly  still. 

in  one  instant,  all  tho  wild,  ghostlv  legends  she  had 
ever  heard  of  the  old  numsion  rushed  through  Sybil's  mind. 
Heaven  of  heavens  !  could  this  be  the  spirit  of  some  mur- 
dered victim,  returning  from  its  bloody  grave  to  seek  for 
retribution  on  its  murderer  ?  Sybil  Campbell,  naturally 
brave,  and  come  of  a  daring  race,  was  yet,  as  we  know,  super- 
stitious ;  and  the  terror  that  mortal  man  could  never  havo 
inspired,  tilled  her  very  soul  at  the  thought.  Shaking  as 
with  an  ague  lit,  for  an  instant  she  crouched  upon  tho 
floor,  her  face  liidden  in  her  hands,  while  memory  recalled 
the  tale  she  had  once  heard  of  a  woman  stabbed  by 
one  of  her  dark,  tierce  forefathers  in  that  very  house,  whoso 
restless  spirit  (the  legend  ran)  came  when  the  storm  was 
wildest,  and  the  furious  tempest  at  its  height,  from  her 
troubled  tomb  among  the  heaving  waves,  to  pronounce 
woe  on  her  murderer  and  on  his  descendants. 

How  long  she  sat,  she  knew  not ;  but  the  sound  of  tho 
old  clock  below,  striking  in  deep,  sonorous  tones,  that 
echoed  startlingly  througli  the  silent  house,  ''One  !  Two  ! 
Three  ! "  recalled  her  once  more  to  life. 

That  earthly  sound  brought  her  once  more  to  herself. 
She  raised  her  head  and  looked  wildly  around.  Aunt  .Moll 
lay  near  her,  breathing  heavily,  and  sleeping  the  deep, 
dreamless,  deathlike  sleep  that  seems  peculiar  to  the  chil- 
dren of  Africa.  The  consciousness  of  companionship — 
even  though  that  companion  was  but  a  poor,  helpless,  old 
negress — brought  renewed  courage.  Rising,  and  half 
ashamed  of  her  superstitious  fears,  she  walked  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out. 

The  storm  had  passed  away,  and  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly,  lighting  up  with  her  calm,  pale  radiance  what 
had  so  lately  been  p  scene  of  deepest  darkness  and  wildest 
storm.  Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  island  ;  all  there  was 
still  and  serene.     From  theuce  they  strayed  out  over  the 


{■ 


a 


174 


THK  QIM^KN   OK  TUK   ISI.K. 


houiullesM  s(\'».  iin«l  su<](l(Mily  vrslct]  on  ;m  ohjcci  IIimI  ItMii- 
isluMl  all  l\>ars  of  supernal  mal  visitoi's.  and  bronghl  wil  li 
il  a  new  alarm. 

ll  \va^  a  liital  a  lM>a<  (lial  had  ('\id<MitIy  ju^l  |>nl  o(T 
from  lluM^li\  and  \vas  ra|MtlIy  disappcarin,",  in  1Im>  di^- 
lan(M\ 

ll  h(dd  ImiI  I\v<>  |>(>rs<>nM  slic  conld  s(m>  thai — l)ul  wlial, 
nu^uil  I  his  n\idnii:hl  vi^it.  in  darknrsM  nnd  slorin.  lo 
that  hniidy  ish^  :  What  IcrrihlcMlccd.  nnih'r  cover  of  ni;^h(, 
and  t(Mnp<>';|.  had  Immmi    ]>erp(>l  ralcMl  ihis  ni",ht  ? 

S\\o  oan-'Jit  herh)-(>ath  (pii<dv  and  short,  hnl  tn>\v  !hat, 
sh(^  fi\)r(Ml  onlyoarihly  dan<vers  ami  carlhlv  foes.  ther(» 
i\'uno\vilh  t  liis  diseovtM'V  a  (h>ep  hroathof  relief.  Sonio 
ono  iniu'hl  si  ill  i>(M'nn(N>a](>d  in  the  honsi* — somt*  om>  who 
in«lnlu«M!  in  tlu^  popular  helief  that  iherc^  was  money  eon- 
(H\d(Ml  in  it  S(>mowhere,  Tlnu'e  was  m>  time  to  hesilale  ; 
the  house  nin-:!  h(>  sean^hiMl.  liCm  must  h(»  aroused  to 
assist  in  il.  llesh^pt  in  t h(M>p]>osiUMvine"  of  t  luHuiiidiui;', 
ami  snpp(>sirii:' any  omMohe  (M>ne(^aled  in  theemptv  rooms, 
tlu^  joni'n(>y  was  a  lia/ardous  om*  ;  hut.  it  oonhj  in)t.  ho 
avi-iidc^l.  Syhil  urow  <|n"ito  oalm  in  lht»  faeiM^f  this  uvw 
danj:<M'.  ami  stooping,  she  shook  .Vuut  Moll  hy  llie  shoulder 
to  arouse^  inM\ 

A  d(H^p  ernnt.  as  the  v«leeper  turned  over  and  fell  inio  a 
deeper  s!(^(^p  than  l^efi^'e.  rewarded  luu'  (^xtM'tions. 

*'  .Vunt  Moll.  wak(^  !  Wake,  1  say  !  TIumm^  arc*  p(M)ph) 
in  t he  li(V(iS(\"  said  S\hil.  in  an  anxious  whisper,  as  sho 
jihook  her  uhu-e  viohmtly  than  h«M'or(\  "  ()h.  heavcMis  ! 
what  shall  1  (\o  ?  Aunt  Moll,  wakt^  !  w.ake  !  Do  you  want 
to  bo  murdered  in  vour  hed  ?  "  cried  Syhil.  pivino:  lu>r  ji 
shake  that  might  have  aroused  the  seven  sltH^piU's, 

"  Uar.  Lem — dar  !  Pon't  shake  y(M'  old  mammy,  (hit's 
a  good  ehile  :  "tain'l  'speetful.  nor  likewise — "  here  tho 
sleeper  \vent  otV.  muttering  an  ineo;n]>rehensihlo  somo- 
thiniT.  ami  still,  still   "far  wi(h\" 


There  was  no  time 
to  wake  A'lnt  Moll. 


to  1 


ose 


-it  was  fruitless  labor  sookinir 


Seizing  a  lamp,  she   nastily  struc 


ft 


'k  a 


lieht.and  hastened  out  into  tlu^  windy  hall,  iiausing  for 
an  instant  nt  theheatl  of  tho  h>ng.  bhudv  staircase,  to  listen 
ore  sho  ventiired  further. 

Tho  silence  of  the  grave  still  reigned.     Xothing  mot 
her  oar  bnt  tho  faint  echo  of  her  own  liglit  footsto| 


IS. 


Like   a   shadov,  she   iiitted  down  the  dark,  ciieerless 


MOUNIJSKi   IN   'IMIK  IS(.ANI). 


175 


3 
10 


III 

IV 

11 


S3 


BtMlrcMMc,  tliroii^li  lliolowor  liull  inloMio  kitclicii,  jirxHioro 

Tlic  Milv<"r  r?i()(Mi  wmm  rxtiirini;  ft  flood  of  lirrlif-  tliroiifli 
ilic  (wo  |o\v-ciirl  !iiiH'<l  wjimIowm,  juhI  n'ndrriiiK  Mm'  lli'd.cr- 
in^  IjiMip  Mil  [MM  II  ijoiiM,  I'lvcryt  'dri^^  mI  ood  prrrisid y  jih  if  luid 
(loiio  I  lie  II  i:;  111,  I  If  <  fori"  ;  (dijiir^  ,*md  l;il»l('  wfrc  in  f  ficir  |il;ifrH, 
Hiid  l)!id  Fiol  Immmi  dishirlicd  ;  m  few  rrd  cofils  still  ^dowcd 
like  li<MTO  <'v<"M  ,'Miiid  I  lie  dfirkiK'i-'.M  <»f  Mm-  •^ti'mI.  hl.ick, 
y.'iwnitiL!;  (diiiniicv  il.  wmh  cviflcnt.  fluii  iif>  ono  li;id  lifcn 
iiilrndin/.,'  Imm'(\ 

I'lisliiiiL;' o|H>ii  I  ho  doi.i'  |o;idi!i!.(  direct  Iv  rtorii  I  lie  k  if ''liofi 
info  licni'M  Micciiinir-rooin,  kIio  cnfcrrd  if,,  jind  ,^tood  fMsido 
liim.  Slio  (Mnild  iiof,  s[i!iro  fiiiio  f,o  fry  fo  /iroiisf!  hirjj  hy 
oi'din.'ii'y  nioiinn,  so  s(>i/,in<^^  u  iiiri';o  pil.oluT  of  fold  wafer 
ilmt,  hIooiI  noar,  slip  iniccrfMnoiiioiiKly  dasliod  if,  in  lii^  fa-c, 
(liMMndiini^  liirn   ('oni[»lcl('ly. 

Tlio  sliof'k  aroused  liirii,  as  it,  well  niiidil,  ;  a.nd,  nt,fei-in(( 
i\  fearfnl  yell  of  ininn^led  r;ii:;(>  find  terror,  Ijem  HJi.f  holt, 
iijirifj^lit  in  bed,  nna,l)le  t,o  <li,^l  in^misli  ariyt-hin^  for  tlio 
light,  of  t.lic  hiniii  that  Hushed  direef,ly  in  his  eye.s. 

"Oh  !"  was  his  first,  ejaenlalioii  ;  "  I's  L,'wino  for  to  ho 
^SMSsiJial  e<l  'f  hoiit.  a,  rninil.'s  warniri'  I  " 

"  liiish,  hush,  liCin  !  for  heaven's  sake!  If,  i,^  only  I, 
your  mistress  I"  said  Syldl,  piitfin;^^  one  lil,t,lo  white  ha,nd 
over  his  hufj^o,  hhiek  month.  "  (fel,  up  and  dress  yoiirKfdf 
UH  (|ui(d\ly  as  possihio,  juid  join  me  in  tin;  kitohon,  whoro 
J  will  wait  until  yon  eomi!.  ' 

And  wif-hont  waitins^  for  the  host  of  rpieHtions  she  saw 
liovenni^  on  his  lips,  Sybil  j)fiss('(|  out  to  the  kitrdieri  to 
■\vjiit  for  him. 

With  tooth  clKiltcrin^,  gray  and  gasi)ing  with  torror, 
liom  proceodod,  with  trcimhling  lini^'erH,  fo  draw  on  his 
clothes.  Without  waiting  to  mako  a  very  olahorate  toilet, 
he  i)assod  out  to  the  kit<d!  3ri,  wIhto  Sybil  stood  waiting  in 
a,  fever  of  irn[)atienee. 

"Miss  Sybil!"  he  exehiimeil,  in  trembliriL'  tonn:), 
*Mvha,t's  liapiieruMl  ?  l*  we  a"'  ;'";'.  ino  for  Lo  be  killed  or 
anything  ?  '' 

*'  Hush  !  No,  F  liopo  not.  lint— i)e  Kilent  now — [ 
greatly  fear  there  ar(?  nuin  ef»ncealed  in  the  houne  somf> 
where.  Hush,  I  tell  you  !  "  she  repeated,  with  a  flash  of 
her  bright  eye  that  arrested  the  (^xelaniation  of  terror  on 
Leiu's  lips.     '*  This  is  no  time  for  idle  exclamations.     I 


FT 


176 


THE  QUEEN  OF  HIE  ISLE. 


only  say  I  think  there  may  be  men  here  ;  if  tliereare,  your 
noise  will  only  reveal  where  we  are  ;  if  there  are  not,  then 
there  is  no  occasioji  for  your  terror.  Come,  follow  me  ; 
we  m.ust  soj!,rcli  the  liouse. " 

''  Oh,  Miss  Sybil,  Ts  afeard  !  'Deed,  de  Lord  knows  I's 
afeard  ! "  said  poor  Leni,  in  shivering  tones. 

"  Chut,  sir  !  do  you  think  }  ou  will  be  any  safer  here  ? 
Come,  give  over  your  fears,  and  follow  me,"  said  Sybil,  as 
she  turned  toward  the  hall  once  more. 

''  Oh,  Miss  Syl)il,  don't  wenture  !  We'll  be  all  'sassin- 
ated  if  you  do  ! " 

And  poor  Lem  wrung  his  hands  in  mortal  terror  ;  wh  e 
Sybil  hastened  from  room  to  room,  but,  as  may  be  antici- 
pated, finding  no  one. 

"  What  can  this  mean?"  she  thought.  ''There  was 
certainly  some  one  here  to-night,  and  yet  I  find  everything 
undisturbed.  This  is  most  strange  ;  they  must  have  gone, 
too,  for  the  house  is  perfectly  still.  Oh,  what  could  that 
cry  of  '  Murder  ! '  have  meant  !  That  voice  and  that 
light,  quick  step  belonged  to  a  woman,  most  certainly  ;  yet 
what  woman  would  venture  out  in  sucii  a  storm  ?  The 
girl  Christie  would  not  come  ;  she  is  too  timid  :  neither 
was  it  her  voice.     What — what  can  it  all  mean  ?  " 

Suddenly  the  recollection  of  the  Uiidnight  visitor,  the 
fair,  pale  woman  with  the  dark,  wnld  hair  and  eyes,  who 
had  bent  over  the  couch  of  Willard  Drummond  the  first 
night  he  had  spent  in  the  Lodge,  came  over  her.  It  must 
have  been  that  same  supernatural  visitant  ;  and  Sybil  grew 
for  an  instant  faint  and  sick  at  the  thought. 

Further  search  in  the  house  was  fruitless  ;  but  her  im- 
patience would  not  ponnit  her  to  wait  until  morning  to 
investigate  further.  Returning  to  the  kitchen,  where 
Lem  was  on  his  knees,  alternately  groaning,  praying  and 
bemoaning  his  hard  fate,  she  commanded  him  to  get  his 
hat  and  come  out  with  her,  to  see  if  any  traces  of  in- 
truders could  be  found  on  the  island. 

In  vain  did  Lem  begin  expostulating  ;  Sybil  cut  it  short 
by  threatening  him  witii  her  brother's  future  vengeance  if 
he  did  not  instantly  obey.  There  was  no  help  for  it  ;  and 
trembling  in  every  limb,  the  frightened  darky  followed  his 
imperious  mistress  from  the  house. 

AH  without  was  so  calm  and  peaceful — all  the  more 
calm  and  peaceful,   contrasted  with  the  wild  uproar  of 


MORNING  IN  THE  ISLAND. 


177 


i '    >i 


tlie  storm  a  few  hours  before — that  it  seemed  like  sacrilege 
even  to  think  of  deeds  of  violence  in  snc'.i  a  spot.  A  deli- 
cious odor  from  the  distant  pine  forest  tilled  the  air,  and 
the  litful  sighing  of  the  wind  among  the  trees,  and  the 
dull  booming  of  the  waves  on  the  shore,  alone  broke  the 
silence  of  early  morning.  Tlie  moonlight,  obscured  now 
and  then  by  fitful  clouds,  brightly  illumined  their  way, 
but  nothing  betrayed  tiio  presence  of  others  save  them- 
selves on  the  isle  that  night. 

Sybil  took  tiie  path  leading  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  boat  had  sta  ted,  but  there  the  waves  were  breaking 
with  tlie  same  monotonous  tramp,  giving  no  indication  of 
any  one  having  been  tiiere.  The  "tide  had  now  receded 
sufTiciently  to  allow  Sybil  to  walk  around  tlie  beach  ;  and, 
tempted  by  the  calm  beauty  of  the  night,  and  feeling  a 
sense  of  security  in  the  open  air,  she  strolled  on  until  she 
reached  tlie  spot  where  Courtney,  in  his  first  moment  of 
alarm,  had  dropped  the  body  of  Christie. 

Something  caught  her  eye  at  some  distance  further  up, 
fluttering  from  a  prickly  thorn  bush,  evidently  a  fragment 
of  a  dress.  Feeling  as  if  she  had  at  last  fouiul  some  clue, 
she  approached  the  spot  and  found  it  to  be  a  white  mus- 
lin handkerchief,  but  almost  saturated  with  blood  ! 

A  sensation  of  horror  came  over  Sybil.  Had  there  really 
been  a  murder  committed  there  that  night  ?  Shrinking 
from  touching  it,  she  was  about  leaving  the  spot  when, 
near  one  corner,  free  from  the  horrible  stains  that  covered 
the  rest,  her  eye  fell  on  something  like  a  name  or  initials. 
Taking  the  corner  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  she  be- 
held, marked  in  full,  the  name  "  Christina." 

It  was  hers,  then,  Christie's.  Wluat  could  have  brought 
it  there  ?     Had  anything  happened  to  her  ? 

''  Oh,  impossible,"  thought  Sybil.  '^  Who  is  there  in 
the  world  to  wliom  she  is  of  the  slightest  importance,  liv- 
ing or  dead,  except,  indeed,  to  me  ?  Wilhvrd  has  gone  ; 
she  is,  in  all  probability,  safely  asleep  in  yonder  cottage, 
and  I  am  only  torturing  mvself  by  useless  fears.  I  will 
return  to  the  Lodge  and  leave  to-morrow  to  unravel  this 
mystery." 

So  saying,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  her  attendjint, 
who  had  all  this  time  been  cautiously  walking  behind  her, 
looking  fearfully  at  every  tree  and  rock,  and  fancying  an 
assassin  in  their  very  shadows,  Sybil  turned  slowly  towurd 


■•\   I 


i-    ! 


178 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


the  old  hall.  On  their  way  they  passed  the  cottage  of 
Mrs.  Tom.  All  was  perfecLly  quiet  there  ;  and,  mystified 
and  uneasy  still,  Sybil  sought  her  room  once  more,  to  won- 
der and  speculate  upon  the  events  of  the  niglit  until  the 
morning  should  dawn. 


* 


•JP  3fC  T*  T»  "P  'T* 

The  bustling  little  widow,  Mrs.  Tom — like  all  those  who 
seem  to  have  letist  occasion  for  it — wiis  in  tlie  habit  of  get- 
ting up  vei'y  early  in  the  morning,  to  the  serious  annoy- 
ance of  young  ]\Ir.  Henley,  who  preferred  to  let  the  sun 
rise  without  impei'tinently  staring  at  him  as  he  did  so. 
Christie,  too,  would  just  as  soon  not  be  awakened  from 
some  rosy  dream  at  daylight  by  the  shrill  voice  of  the  old 
lady  ;  but  Aunt  Tom's  word  was  law,  and  when  she  culled 
there  was  no  such  word  as  disobey.  The  little  widow 
was  quite  aware  of  their  disinclination  for  early  rising  ; 
therefore,  great  was  her  amazement,  upon  going  to 
the  outer  room,  to  find  Christie  absent,  the  bed  made, 
the  door  unlocked,  giving  evidence  of  her  being  up  and 
out. 

'^  Well ! "'  ejaculated  Mrs.  Tom,  ''  what  won't  come  to 
pass  ?  Next  tiling,  I  s'pose,  will  be  Carl  offering  to  wash 
the  dishes  without  bein'  told.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was 
up  and  off  this  niornin',  too.  Fust  time  I  ever  knew 
Christie  to  git  up  'thout  bein'  told.  Here  you,  Carl  ! 
Carl  !  "  shrieked  Mrs.  Tom,  going  to  the  foot  of  the  ladder 
and  looking  up  through  the  trap. 

A  sound  she  was  well  accustomed  to,  something  be- 
tween a  snort  and  a  groan,  was  Mr.  Henley's  answer. 

"  Hurry  up,  there,  ef  ye  don't  want  me  to  go  up  and 
help  ye,"  called  Mrs.  Tom,  ''ef  I  do,  ye'll  wish  ye  had  got 
np  'thout  my  help,  that's  all.     I'll  dress  you,  I  reckon." 

Now,  as  this  was  a  formula  Mrs.  Tom  had  repeated 
every  morning  for  some  ton  years,  without  ever  being 
known  to  vary  it  in  the  least,  Carl  was  too  well  accus- 
tomed to  it  to  venture  to  disobey.  Accordingly,  he  s})rang 
up  and  began  dressing  in  all  haste,  considering  he  was  half 
asleep  during  the  performance,  ^^rs.  Tom,  meanwhile, 
set  about  kindling  a  fire  and  preparing  breakfast,  a  meal 
which  was  usually  over  before  the  sun  was  up. 

"Where's  Christie?"  was  Carl's  first  question  upon 
reaching  the  kitchen,  as  he  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the 


I 


MORXIXG  IN  THE  ISLAND. 


179 


rilf 
(-III 


settee,  where,  every  morning,  about  this  hour,  lie  was  ac- 
customed to  see  her  making  her  bed. 

'•'Up  and  gatlioring  sea  moss  an  lioiir  ago,  I'll  be 
bound,"  ^^plied  Mrs.  Tom,  '■'  same  as  you  would  do  if  you 
wasn't  the  most  sliil'tless  young  vagabones  on  the  face  of 
the  airth  !  I  hope  now  this  will  be  a  warning  to  you  for 
the  futer.  'IMiink  o'  all  the  sea  moss  and  berries  and 
n.aniiiosic  and  sich  you  could  have  i-aLliered  everv  morn- 
in'  'fore  this  time,  of  you  was  worth  your  salt,  l^ut  it 
al'ays  was  my  luck,  ever  since  1  was  born,  to  be  phigued 
witii  a  set  o'  the  laziest,  most  good-for-nothing  bein's  as  I 
saw  upon  the  face  of  the  airth  !  Stand  outo'  my  way,  will 
\ou,  ef  you  don't  want  to  brjak  my  neck  ?" 

Trot,  the  unfortunate  cat,  came  iji,  as  usual,  for  the 
latter  part  of  this  outburst  of  elorpieuce,  emphasized  by  a 
vigorous  kick. 

'•'  Lor'  sakes,  Aunt  Tom  !  "  exclaimed  Master  Carl, 
roused  to  something  like  indignation  by  this  unexpected 
harangue.  '"You  don't  want  a  feller  to  get  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  do  you  ?  By  granny,  it's  too  bad,  no 
matter  how  early  a,  feller  gets  up,  you  always  think  he 
ought  to  2:et  up  earlier  still.  S'pose  you'll  be  waking  me 
'bout  midnight  to  gather  maninosies,  pretty  soon,  ugh  ?  " 

Most  of  tliis  reply  was  delivered  pitinissimo — that  being 
the  most  prudent  tone — and,  accordingly,  did  not  reach 
Mrs.  Tom's  ears,  who  was  blustering  out  and  in,  sharp  and 
breezy  as  the  goddess  of  morning,  bringing  in  wood  and 
water  and  beginning  to  knead  biscuit. 

'•'Yes,  grumble,"  said  the  Jictive  little  woman.  ''I 
never  knew  you  doing  anything  else,  cf  you  was  told  to 
work.  Pity  if  a  great,  big.  lazy  fellow  like  you  can't  get 
up  as  airly  as  Christie,  a  deliky  young  gal,  too  I  See  her, 
up  and  out  while  you  was  snorin'  away  like  a  pig  up  there  ; 
you  ought  to  be  'shamed  o'  yourself." 

''  I  say,  Aunt  Tom,"  said  Carl,  looking  up  with  as  much 
interest  as  his  usually  expressionless  face  could  assume, 
"  was  she  out  a  little  'fore  twelve,  when  it  was  a-storiuin' 
so." 

'*  'Fore  twelve  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tom,  in  a  higli  key.  as  she 
imagined  her  dutiful  nephew  was  making  fun  of  her  ; 
"look  here,  now,  vou  Carl,  ef  \  hadn't  mv  h;mds  in  tliisi 
dough  I'd  box  your  ears  till  you  wouldn't  ask  me  such  a, 
question  agin." 


180 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I  i 


"  Now,  Aunt  Tom,"  said  Carl,  in  a  whimpering  tone, 
it's  too  bad,  so  it  is ;  a  fellar  can't  say  nothing  you  don't 
get  mad  at.  If  it  wa'n't  Christie  'twas  Miss  Sybil  !  I  saw 
some  woman  or  otiier  out  ^bout  midnight,  running  like 
mad  through  the  storm  ;  an"  what's  more,  I  heerd  her, 
too." 

"  My  conscience  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Tom,  lifting  up  her 
floury  hands  in  holy  horror  ;  "  my  conscience  !  how  that 
there  boy  does  lie  !  Carl  Henley,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  was  out  in  tluit  storm  last  night,  and  saw  Miss 
Sybil  ?" 

''  No  ;  1  wa'n't  out  myself,"  said  ]\rr.  Henley,  tearing 
the  comb  fiercely  through  his  tow  locks  in  liis  deep  in- 
digmition  at  having  his  veracity  aiul  reason  both  doubted. 
*'  iUit  I  seen  wliat  I  saw,  for  all  that.  S'pose  you  ha'n't 
forgotten.  Aunt  Tom,  that  there's  a  pane  of  glass  broken 
out  of  one  of  tlie  windows  up-stairs,  with  your  old  bonnet 
stuck  through  it.  Well,"  said  Carl,  in  a  slightly  subdued 
tone,  "  your  old  bonnet  got  blown  out  with  the  wind  last 
night,  and  the  fust  thing  woke  me  was  the  rain  a-beating 
into  my  face.  So  I  jumped  up  to  fix  it,  and  just  as  I  got 
to  the  window  there  came  such  a  Hash  of  lightning  as  I 
never  seen  afore.  Blamed  if  I  thought  I  wasn't  a  goner  I 
Everything,  for  nigh  onto  ten  minutes,  was  considerably 
clearer  nor  day  !  and  just  then  I  seen  a  woman  flyin' 
through  the  storm,  like  as  if  all  creation  was  after  her  ; 
and  as  she  passed  the  house  I  heard  her  singout  *  Mother  ! ' 
or  '  ]\rurder  ! ' — I  don't  know  which.  I  was  pretty  con- 
siderably scared,  though  I  did  think  it  was  only  Miss 
Sybil,  for  slie  had  long  black  hair  a-flying  beliind  lier,  jist 
like  hers.  When  the  flash  went  away  I  couldn't  see  noth- 
uig,  for  it  was  as  dark  as  all  outdoors,  and  tliough  I  was 
scared  of  the  storm,  I  wanted  to  see  if  it  was  jMiss  Sybil, 
and  I  stood  there  waiting  for  the  next,  but  when  it  came 
she  was  gone. 

^'  My  sakes  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tom,  whose  deepest  in- 
terest was,  for  the  moment,  arrested,  '*'  what  did  vou  do 
then?" 

**  Well,  then,"  said  Carl,  in  a  lower  key  as  though  sorry 
his  story  had  not  a  more  thrilling  sequel.  ''  I  got  tired 
of  settin'  up,  so  I  laid  down  and  went  asleep.  Who  do 
you  s'pose  it  was,  Aunt  Tom  ?" 

**  1  don't  think  it  was  anybody.     S'pose  folks  is  fools  to 


ht   \ 


MORXING  m  THE  ISLAND. 


181 


run  out  in  sich  a  storm  as  that  tliere  ?  I  know  Wia^  Sybil 
has  queer  notions  sometimes,  but  slie  lias  more  sense,  I 
reckon,  nor  to  go  out  phihindering  tlirough  the  rain.'' 

"  Well,  it  must  have  been  somei)0(]y,"  said  Carl,  with  a 
sort  of  dogged  resolution.  "  I  know  1  seen  a  woman  run- 
ning like  a  house  afire  through  all  the  wind  jind  rain." 

'*  Xo,  you  didn't,"  said  Aunt'J'om,  shortly,  "  'twas  only 
a  touch  of  nightmare  ;  so  don't  bother  mo  any  more  about 
it.^' 

Thus  ignominiously  silenced,  Carl  proceeded  lazily  to 
assist  in  the  iyreparation  of  breakfast,  which  he  would 
greatly  have  preferred  discussing,  if  left  to  himself,  to 
getting  ready. 

The  coffee  and  biscuits  were  smoking  at  length  on  the 
table,  but  Christie  did  not  make  her  appearance. 

*'  Very  stnmge,"  said  Mrs.  'I'om  ;  ''  don't  see  what  in 
the  world  keeps  the  gal.  Here  it  is  going  on  to  seven 
o'clock,  and  my  work  a-standing  while  we're  waiting  for 
her.     Carl,  jest  run  out  and  see  ef  you  can  see  her." 

Carl  started  on  his  mission,  but  soon  returned,  announc- 
ing that  notliing  was  to  be  seen  of  her. 

'^Then  there's  no  use  a-waiting  any  longer,"  said  I^Lrs. 
Tom.  ''  Set  down  ;  maybe  she's  gone  to  the  Lodge  to 
breakfast  with  Miss  Sybil." 

The  meal  was  over  ;  the  service  cleared  away.  Carl  set 
out  to  weed  the  garden  ;  Mrs.  Tom  sat  down  to  her  wheel. 
But  still  Christie  came  not. 

"  Very  strange,"  observed  "Siva.  Tom  at  last,  begin- 
ning to  grow  uneasy.  "  Ten  o'clock,  and  Christie  not  here 
yet.  My  stars  I  I  wonder  ef  anything  can  hev  happened 
to  her  ?  I've  noticed  she's  been  kind  o'  silent  and  pin  in* 
away  for  the  last  two  or  three  days.  I  hope  nothin's 
happened  to  her.  Oh,  liere  she  is  now.  Xo,  'tain't 
neither  ;  it's  Miss  Sybil." 

The  little  widow  arose  and  came  smiling  and  cheery  to 
the  door  to  welcome  her  guest. 

'^  Well,  Miss  Sybil,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Walk  in  and 
sit  down.  I  thought  when  vou  and  Master  (Juv  came 
home  from  furrin  parts  you'd  stay  comfortably  in  the 
island  ;  but,  'stead  o'  that,  we  never  see  you  no  more  nor 
if  you  was  in  Cauada  or  Rooshia,  or  any  other  outlandish 
place.     How's  the  captain  and  that  ^Ir.  Drummond  ?'' 

"They  were  both  very  well  when  I  saw  them  last,"  said 


r 


182 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


m^ 


Sybil,  smiling  slightly,  as  she  took  the  pi'offered  seat, 
from  whicli  Mrs.  Tom  had  been  whisking  some  invisible 
particles  of  dust  with  her  apron.  ''  I  hope  you  have  been 
qr'.uO  well  yourself,  Mrs.  Tom  ?" 

"Oh,  tol-bul,"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  complacently.  "Fact 
is,  you  know,  I  ha'n't  no  time  to  be  sick  ;  it's  only  rich 
folks,  what's  well  olf,  can  afford  to  indulge  in  sickness. 
So  you've  had  a  great  fortune  left  you.  Miss  Sybil,  I've 
hearn  tell." 

"  Yes  ;  Guy  and  I  have  received  a  legacy." 

"  Well,  the  Lord  never  does  forget  his  critters  ;  and 
every  now  and  then  something's  allers  sure  to  ha])pen. 
Vve  allers  remarked  that  myself.  J  s'pose  you  don't  in- 
tend to  stay  here  much  longer.  Miss  Sybil  ?  " 

"  I  rather  think  not.  We  w'll  leave  you  to  keep  the 
island,  Mrs.  Tom.  ]3ut  where  i?  your  niece  this  morning  ? 
I  do  not  sec  her." 

"She  went  out  this  morning  before  any  of  us  was  up, 
and  hasn't  come  back  yet.  I'm  getting  rale  onasy,"  said 
Mrs.  Tom,  anxiously  getting  up  and  going  to  the  door. 
"I  thought  she  had  gone  to  see  you." 

Sybil  gave  a  sudden  start  and  grew  deadly  pale  as  she 
thought  of  the  handkerchief,  the  wild  cry  of  murder  and 
the  men  leaving  tlie  island  during  the  night.  A  terrible 
presentiment  flashed  across  her  mind,  and,  sic^k  and  dizzy, 
she  fell  back  in  her  chair  and  passed  her  hand  over  her 
heart. 

"  My  gracious.  Miss  Sybil  !  what's  the  matter  ?  Are 
you  sick  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tom,  turning  suddenly  and  seeing 
with  alarm  the  sudden  paleness  of  tlie  young  lady.  "  Here's 
some  camphire  ;  smell  of  it,  or  ye'll  faint." 

"Thank  you,  I  do  not  require  it."  said  Sybil,  rising, 
with  an  effort,  and  striving  to  be  calm.  "  Have  you  any 
idea  what  time  Christie  left  the  house  ?  " 

"Not  the  slightest  idee;  'cause  I  was  asleep  at  the 
time.  Carl  says — though  there's  no  puttin'  confidence  in 
him — that  soniewhere's  'bout  midnight,  he  seed  a  woman 
runnin'  through  tlie  storm,  aii'l  singin'  out  'Murder!' 
But  in  course  he  was  dreaming;  there  couldn't  hev  bin 
any  sicli  thing." 

"Oh,  merciful  heaven  !  then  it  was  no  dehision  on  my 
part,  since  I  heard  it,  too.  Oh,  this  is  dreadful ! "  said 
Sybil,  wringing  her  hands. 


MORXING  IN  TTIE  ISLAND. 


183 


"  Miss  Sybil,  what's  luippened  ?  "  siiid  Mrs.  Tom,  grow- 
ing very  pale. 

*'  Oil,  Mrs.  Tom  I     lloavon  help  yon  !    Christie  !  " 

"  Christie  !  what  of  her  ?"  crieil  Mrs.  Tom,  grasping  a 
chair,  to  steady  herself. 

''Oil,  Mrs.  Tom!  mnst  I  tell  yon?  Christie  has.  I 
fear,  gone  ont  last  night  in  the  storm,  and — oh,  heaven  ! '' 
said  Sybil,  sinking  into  a  eliair,  with  a  eonvnlsive  shndder. 

''And  what.  Miss  Sybil  ?  Tell  me,  qniek  I  >\'as  she 
swept  away  in  the  stoi'm  ?  *'  said  ^Irs.  Tom,  striving  to 
strangle  her  trembling  tones. 

"  Oh,  worse — worse  !  I  fear  ;  still  worse  I"  said  Sybil, 
wildly. 

"Oh,  my  soul!  what  has  hapj^ened  ?  Oh,  Christie! 
dear  Christie  I  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Ciiristio  has,  1  fear,  been  waylaid  and '' 

"Murdered?  Oh,  my  God!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tom, 
falling  back  in  her  chair,  and  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

There  was  a  moment's  awful  silence.  Then  Mrs.  Tom 
who  (no  matter  what  the  emergency)  never  allowed  her 
ever  practicjd  mind  to  bo  long  overclouded,  dnjpped  her 
hands  from  before  her  face,  and,  though  she  was  fright- 
fnlly  2)ale,  said,  in  a  voice  whoso  lirmness  astonished 
Sybil  : 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  Sybil  ?  My  poor  little 
Christie  had  not  an  enemy  in  the  world  I'' 

"Oh  !  she  had — she  had  !  "  cried  Sybil,  thinking  with 
bitter  remorse,  how  intensely  she  herself  had  hated  her. 

"  Who  was  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  I^om,  starting  up.  "No  one 
but  a  monster  could  have  hurted  one  hair  of  her  gentle 
head  !"     Miss  Sybil,  who  do  you  think  has  done  it  ? 

"  I  do  not  know — as  heaven  hears  me,  I  do  not  know  \'* 
said  Sybil,  recovering  herself. 

"What  makes  you  think  she  was  murdered  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Tom,  who  by  this  time  had  recovered  all  her  custoiuary 
composure,  and  now  fixed  her  piercing  eyes  keenly  on 
Sybil's  face. 

"  Last  night  I,  too,  like  your  nephew,  heard  the  crv  of 
*  Murder  !'"  said  Sybil,  shuddering  at  the  recollection; 
"and,  early  this  morning.  I  discovered,  in  a  l)ush  down 
near  the  shore,  a  pocket  handkerchief,  stained  with  blood, 
and  marked  with  her  name  !  " 


!N 


i  ' 


I^R 


184 


rv 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


J I 


,  '*  Where  is  tlic  liaiul kerchief  ?  " 

**  It  is  there  still  ;  1  did  not  touch  it." 

**  Come,  tlien,  and  show  me  the  place!"  said  Mrs. 
Tom — a  sudden  passionate  outburst  oi*  sorrow  breaking 
through  all  tlie  composure  she  was  endeavoring  to  assume. 

Without  exchiinging  a  word,  they  hurried  to  the  spot, 
where  the  ghastly  handkerchief  still  lluttered  in  the 
breeze. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  hers  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tom.  ''  1'hey  have 
inurdered  her  on  the  beach,  and  the  tide  has  swei)t  her 
tiway.  Oh,  Christie  !  Christie  !  "  And,  bowing  her  face 
in  her  hands  for  the  first  time,  she  wept  passionately. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  brokon  only  by  Mrs.  Tom's 
convulsive  sobs.  Sybil  stood  wrestling  with  her  own 
bitter  thoughts,  not  daring  to  break  in  upon  her  grief  by 
any  useless  words  of  comfort. 

At  last  Mrs.  Tom  looked  up,  her  tears  seemingly 
changed  to  sparks  of  fire. 

"  Who  has  done  this  ?  You  know  !  "  she  said,  gloomily, 
laying  her  hand  on  Sybil's  arm. 

*'  Heaven  be  merciful  !     I  do  not." 

*'  Have  you  no  idea  ? — is  there  no  clue  ?  Speak  ;  for 
if  there  is  law  or  justice  in  the  land,  those  who  have  done 
this  deed  shall  suffer  I  " 

*^  The  only  clue  is  one  so  slight,  that  even  now  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  really  saw  it,  or  dreamed  that  I  did,"  said 
Sybil,  hesitatingly. 

'^  Speak  !  and  tell  me  what  it  is.  I  must  know  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Tom,  with  a  sort  of  grim  vengeance. 

**  Then  listen.  Last  night  after  the  moon  arose — some 
two  hours,  I  should  judge,  after  1  heard  that  cry  of 
'Murder!' — on  going  to  the  window  to  look  out,  I  per- 
ceived a  boat  push  off  from  the  shore,  containing  the 
forms  of  two  men  ;  but  so  speedily  did  they  vanish  from 
sight  that  I  had  barely  time  to  catch  the  dark  outline  of 
their  figures  ;  as  it  all  passed  so  quickly,  J  am  still  half 
disposed  to  believe  it  the  elfect  of  fancy." 

"  No  boat  could  reach  the  island  in  the  storm  last 
night,"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  still  keeping  her  gloomy  eyes  fixed 
on  Sybil's  face. 

"i  know  that  ;  and  that  is  the  principal  reason  I  have 
for  thinking  what  I  saw  may  be  the  effect  of  fancy.  And 
yet — and  yet  some  one  must  have  been  here,  else  how  are 


CHRISTIE. 


185 


Tve  to  acconnt  for  tlie  coinmitting  of  the  deed  ?  And 
what  could  hiive  induced  Cliristic  to  go  out  in  sueii  u 
storm,  and  ut  such  an  hour  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  it  is  all  Avraj^ped  in  mystery,"  said 
Mrs.  Tom,  taking  the  handkerchief  and  turning  awuy  ; 
*' hut  I'll  find  it  out — I'll  discover  the  murderers,  if  I 
should  spend  my  whole  life  in  sei^kiug  for  them  myself  I '* 

"  What  do  you  meun  to  do  ?"  said  Syhil,  tmxiously. 

^'  To  hev  the  islaiul  searched  tin?  iirst  thing.  1  suppose 
you  will  let  Lem  come  and  help  ? '' 

"  Of  course.      IJut  wouhl  it  not  ho  a  better  ]dan  to  go 

over  to  N immediately  and  i«nforiu  the  authorities,  and 

let  them  investigate  the  matter  ?" 

"'  Carl  shall  take  mc  right  over,"  said  Mrs.  Tom. 

'•  I  will  accompany  you,"  said  Sybil  ;  ''  we  may  both  bo 
needed  to  give  testimony." 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  boat  containing  Carl,  Mrs.  '^Pom 
and  Sybil,  was  dancing  over  the  water,  in  the  dii'ection  of 

!N ,  to  electrify  the  community  by   the   announcement 

of  the  atrocious  deed. 

13ut  where,  meantime,  was  Christie  ?  Had  she  really, 
as  they  so  readily  supposed,  found  a  grave  beneath  tho 
v/iid  waves  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


CHKISTIE. 


Then  she  took  up  the  burden  of  life  aj^ain, 

Saying  only  '  It  might  huve  ItetMi/ 

Alas  1  for  them  both  and  alas  For  us  all 

A\'ho  vainly  tlie  dreams  of  hope  recall, 

Fur  of  all  sad  words  of  lip  or  pen, 

The  saddest  are  these,  '  it  might  have  been.'  " 


-Whittier. 


With  the  cold  rain  falling  on  her  face,  tho  colder  wind 
fanning  her  brow,  Christie  awoke  from  that  deep  swoon 
that  had  been  mistaken  for  death. 

She  opened  her  eyes,  and  gazed  vacantly  around,  but  all 
was  dark  a  J  Erebus.  There  was  a  roaring  sound,  as  of 
many  waters  in  her  ears — a  vague,  dull  sense  of  some 
av/fiil  calamity — a  heavy,  suffocating  feeling  in  her  clicst 
— a  misty  consciousness  of  some  one  supporting  her  head. 
Dark  and  dreary  was  the  night  around,  but  darker  and 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


T 


A 


^' 


/ 


C/j 


III 


1.0 


I.I 


11.25 


■U|28     |2.5 

:.•«  Nig 

m 

U    1111.6 


01 


m 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  873-4503 


x^    'qC 


A 


^'^ 


\ 


\ 


^V 


^1> 


<^ 


M^      1 


L<? 


p^ 


i 


: 

•   '  i 

186 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


drearier  lay  the  heart  in  her  bosom.  Memory  made  a 
faint  effort  to  regain  its  power,  to  recall  some  dreadful 
woe  that  2")resscd  like  a  leaden  weiglit  on  lier  bosom,  but 
in  vain.  Only  that  dull  aching  at  her  lieart..  only  some 
past  unutterable  sornnv — that  was  all. 

Bodily  as  well  as  mentaliv,  everv  facuUv  w.»s  prostrated. 
She  made  an  effort  to  s])eak,  to  ask  what  had  napix'ued, 
to  know  where  she  was  ;  but  her  lij)3  moved  in  vain  ;  no 
word  came  forth.  She  strove  to  rise,  but  at  the  first  faint 
motion,  a  sudden  pani^,  like  a  daL'^.ircr  thrust,  pierced  her 
breast,  and  she  fell  bacdv  in  a  deadly  swoon  once  more. 

Wlien  next  siiO  awoke  to  consciousiu'ss,  she  foinid  her- 
self lying  in  a  bed,  with  the  bright  sunsliine  lying  in  broad 
pat(;hes  on  the  floor.  Memory  had  not  yet  resumed  its 
throne,  and  of  that  last  dreadful  .light  she  was  mercifully 
prevented  from  recalling  anything.  She  strove  \n  vain 
to  collect  her  thoughts,  nothing  could  be  remembered  ; 
oidy  that  strange  adnng — that  vague,  unspeakaJjle  weight 
that  lay  on  her  heart  still. 

She  cast  her  eyes,  in  a  sort  of  languid  amaze,  about  tho 
room  where  she  lay,  with  a  dreamy  wonder  how  she  had 
come  there.  She  saw  indistinctly,  as  we  see  things  in  a 
dream,  a  small,  square  room,  with  a  rough,  uncarpetcd 
floor  ;  two  chairs,  a  small  table,  and  various  articles  of 
Avearing  apparel  hanging  around  the  walls.  A  little  stand, 
on  which  lay  bottles,  linen  bandages,  and  a  glass  tilled 
with  some  sort  of  dark  li([uid  stood  near  the  head  of  the 
bed  on  which  she  lav.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  was  a  smidl, 
square  window,  covered  with  a  dark  paper  blind,  but 
through  which  the  sunlight  peeped  here  and  there  in 
chinks.  All  was  ])r<)f()undly  still.  She  could  hear  tho 
ilies  bu:^zing  and  droning  as  they  Hew  over  her  head,  she 
could  hear  what  she  fancied  must  be  trees  waving  gently 
in  the  wind  with  a  low,  soothing  sound,  inexpressibly 
sweet ;  and  like  a  wearied  child  she  closed  her  eyes,  and 
fell  into  a  deep  slumber. 

Aga.in  slie  awoke  ;  and  now  she  knew  it  must  bo 
night.  Some  one  had  evidently  been  in  the  room  while 
she  slept ;  for  tho  curtain  had  been  rolled  up  from  the 
window,  and  the  moonlight  came  softly  and  brightly  in. 
She  could  see,  without  moving,  the  tall,  dark  trees  beyond  ; 
and  she  knew  she  must  be  in  the  forest.  Once  more  her 
eyes  Avandered  round  the  room  ;  and  reason  now  made  a 


CHRISTIE. 


187 


terrible  effort  to  resume  its  powers.  Where  was  she  ? 
What  had  hjippened  ?  Who  had  brouglit  her  hero  ?  As 
her  mind  began  to  clear,  and  (Consciousness  to  return, 
question  after  question  rose  to  her  lips.  She  closed  lier 
evus,  and  struggled  to  recall  the  past.  (Tradually  tlie 
brolcen  links  in  the  chain  of  memory  began  to  reunite. 
She  recalled  the  note  lie  had  sent  her,  tiiat  appointed  their 
meeting  on  the  beacli — that  night  of  storm  and  tempest 
through  which  slie  had  gone  to  meetliim — that  meeting — 
and  then,  with  a  pang  sharper  than  death,  came  tlie 
terrible  recollection  of  his  plunging  the  knife  into  her 
side. 

She  could  think  no  further,  the  'ecollection  of  that 
dreadful  moment  seemed  driving  her  mad.  She  made  an 
effort  to  rise,  to  cry  out ;  but  just  then  a  hand  was  laid 
soothingly  on  her  foreliead,  and  a  voice  mot  her  ear,  saying : 

"(rently,  gently,  my  child.  Thee  must  not  get  up. 
Here,  lie  still  and  diink  this." 

Some  one — she  could  not  tell  WiU'tlier  it  were  man  or 
woman — was  bending  over  her,  and  holding  the  glass  to 
her  lips.  Too  weak  to  resist,  slie  drank  it  off,  and  almost 
instantaneously  1!ell  into  a  lieep  sleep. 

Days,  weeks,  passed  by  before  consciousness  returned 
again.  During  all  that  time  she  had  a  vague  idea  of 
talking,  raving  wildly,  incoherently  to  Willard — im])loring 
him  not  to  kill  her,  and  she  would  never  reveal  their 
marriage  ;  and  then  shrieking  ah»ud  as  thougli  again  she 
felt  the  steel  entering  her  bosom.  Sometimes,  too,  she 
fancied  Sybil  standiug  before  her,  with,  iier  wild,  bla(;k, 
menacing  eyes,  as  she  liad  been  the  last  tiuie  she  saw  her, 
and  once  again  would  she  clas})  lier  little  pale  hands 
and  piteously  implore  her  to  spare  her.  Anon  her  mood 
would  change,  and  she  would  sjieak  in  low,  sul)dued  tones 
of  Mrs.  Tom  and  Carl,  and  strive  to  rise  from  bed,  saying 
wildly,  she '*  must  go  liome  to  Aunt  Tom.''  And  then, 
falling  back  exhausted,  she  would  vairuelv  see  a  kind  face 
bending  over  her,  a  hand  Jiolding  a  cooling  drink  to  her  lips, 
or  wetting  and  arranging  the  bandages  on  her  wound. 
This,  too,  like  the  rest,  would  pass,  and  life  and  thought 
would  again  for  a  time  be  blotted  out. 

But  one  bright,  golden  August  after:ioon,  the  blue  eyes 
Opened,  no  longer  wild  with  the  fires  of  fever,  but  calm 
and  serene  once  more.     A  naturally  strong  constitution, 


w 


I 


f  \' 


\ 

^  i 

;■  1 


1 

i 

i  < 

rl     - 

f   ' 

i                          ! 

:    '          ; 

' 

I  \ 

II 

M 

188 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


united  with  youth,  uTi(i  skilful  thongli  rough  uursiug, 
liiid  triumphed  at  hisl  over  her  long  and  dangerous  ill- 
ness. 

Weak  as  an  infant,  unable  to  move  hand  or  foot,  pale, 
thin  and  spiritual  as  a  siuidow,  she  eanie  hack  to  life  oiieo 
more.  Her  feet  had  stood  on  the  threshohl  of  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death  ;  but  they  were  not  permitted  to 
pass  therein  ;  and  the  soft  eyes  looked  forth  from  tho 
little  wan  face  with  the  liiiht  of  reason  acrain. 

It  was  a  glorious  suinmer  evening.  From  the  window 
at  her  feet  she  could  see  the  tall  trees  orowued  with  sun- 
sliine,  that  fell  like  a  glory  on  her  pale,  transparent  brow. 
Through  the  oi)en  door  came  lloatingin  the  delicious  odor 
of  llowers,  and  the  sweet,  wild  songs  of  the  birds,  breathing 
of  ])eaee  and  holy  calm. 

While  she  yet  lay,  with  her  little  wan  hands  lying 
listL^ssly  on  tl  e  quilt,  the  gentle  quiet  of  the  sylvan  scene 
stealing  into  her  heart,  too  weak  even  to  think,  she  heard  a 
footstep  beside  her,  a  hand  lightly  arranging  her  pillows, 
and  then  a  voice,  one  of  the  kindest  Christie  had  ever 
lieard,  saying  : 

"  How  does  thee  feel  to-day,  my  child  ?" 

Christie  lifted  her  eves  lauguidlv  and  saw  a  man  hend'y- 
over  her.  He  might  liave  been  forty  years  of  age,  short, 
square  and  ungainly  in  form,  but  with  a  chest  aiul  shoul- 
ders betokening  vnst,  almost  lierculean  strength.  His 
hair  was  almost  white,  but  dark  streaks  here  and  there 
showed  what  had  been  its  original  color  ;  his  face,  with  its 
irregular  features,  would  have  been  positively  ugly,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  expression  of  benevolence,  of  quiet  good- 
ness— the  gentle,  tender  look  it  wore,  that  seemed  shedding 
a  very  halo  round  it,  and  you  forgot  the  brown  skin,  the 
rough,  large  features,  the  bushy  eyebrows  and  stony-gray 
eyes,  in  the  almost  womanly  swc-etness  and  softness  of  his 
smile.  His  dress  was  a  long  drab  coat,  with  blue  home- 
spun vest  and  trousers. 

At  any  other  time  this  unexpected  apparition  might 
have  alarmed  Christie,  but  that  gentle  voice  reassured 
her  :  and  she  answered,  faintly  : 

"  Better,  thank  you." 

**  That  is  well  ;  thee  feels  weak,  does  thee  not  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes — so  weak,^'  slie  said,  closing  her  eyes. 

**  Well,  1  expected  as  much  ;  thee   has  been  very,  very 


CHRISTIE. 


389 


1 


ill,"  said  the  man,   j',"ljnstiiit;  a  pillow,   and  sliadin.!^  the 
liglit,  witli  tlio  skilful  lijind  of  u  ])ra('tis('d  niirsi'. 

A  thousand  qnoslions  were  rising  to  Christie's  lips,  hut 
she  was  too  utterly  prostruti'd  to  ^ive  them  voice.  She 
iixed  her  eyes  wistl'iiliy  on  the  man's  faee.  with  a  (luestion- 
ing  ga/o  that  brought  him  oikm^  more  to  her  side. 

"  Well,  my  daughter,  what  does  thee  non'  want  ?" 

"  Tell  me  " — the  I'aiut  whisper  die(l  jiway,  and  totally 
exhausted,  the  hand  she  had  half  raised  fell  again  to  her 
side. 

*'  Does  thee  want  to  know  how  thou  earnest  licrc  ?" 

A  faint  motion  of  her  head  and  that  e-';er,  inquiring 
gaze  were  the  sole  rej)ly  sheeou'.d  make. 

'*  It  nuiy  exeite  thee  too  much;  thee  liad  better  wait 
until  thee  is  stronger,  child,"  said  the  man,  gently. 

'*  Now — now!"  she  faintly  gasped,  with  that  wild, 
troubled,  imploring  look,  still  riveted  on  her  face. 

**Tlien,  1  found  thee  on  the  beacih  one  wild,  stormy 
night,  three  weeks  ago,  wounded  nigh  unto  death." 

A  spasmodic  shudder  eo!ivulsed  all  her  frame.  Oh  ! 
•what  would  she  nc^t  have  given  for  strength  to  ask  for 
AVillard  ?  Where  was  be  ?  Would  ho  be  arrested  for 
what  he  had  done  ?  She  longed  to  know  that  he  was  safe 
and  well  ;  all  she  had  suffered  herself  was  as  nothing  e<>m- 
pared  to  that.  She  wanted  to  ask  bow  this  man  had 
come  there  wbevo  she  was  now — if  Mrs.  'I'om  knew  of 
this  ;  but,  to  ^avo  her  soul  from  death,  she  could  not 
litter  a  word. 

Perhaps  the  man  read  her  thoughts  in  that  eager,  al- 
most passionate  gaze,  for  he  said  : 

''Thee  wants  to  ask  bow  1  came  on  the  island  that 
night,  does  tliee  not  ?" 

She  n'.ade  a  faint  motion  in  the  aflirmative. 

"  That  would  l)0  too  long  a  story  lor  thee  to  hear  now, 
my  child.  When  thou  art  stronger,  1  will  tell  thee  all. 
Rest  content  Avith  knowing  that  thou  art  safe,  and  with 
friends  who  will  cire  for  thee  as  though  thou  wert  their 
own.     Thou  must  drink  this,  now." 

One  question  more — one  on  which  more  than  life  or 
strengtli  depended.  Willard  I  Willard  !  she  must  ask 
of  him. 

Pushing  back  the  prolfered  dritik,  which  she  knew  con- 
tained some  narcotic  for  sending  her  to  sleep,  she  col- 


v 


w 


h 


i 


m 


I 


c 


!! 


190 


THE  QUKETT  OF  THE  ISLE. 


loctcd  all  her  energies  for  the  effort,  find  managed,  faintly, 
to  say  : 

"  \Vas  there — did  you  see  the  one  who — wlio  wounded 
me  ^ 

'^  Xo,  my  d.'iughter  ;  tlie  assas.sin  had  fled,  most  ])rob- 
ably.  I  saw  no  one  hut  tliee,  and  nuide  no  further  .searcii. 
Xow,  thee  must  not  talk  just  yet.  In  two  or  tliree  (hiys 
thee  will  be  stronger,  and  tlien  1  will  tell  thee  eveiything 
thee  wishes  to  know." 

'I'oo  weak  to  resist,  aiul  dee|>ly  relieved  that-  he  hnd  not 
seen  Willard,  she  quafTed  the  proiTered  draught  Unit 
brought  witji  it  l)alrny  sleep. 

During  the  next  two  or  three  days,  tlic  man  was  her 
most  zealous  nurse — tending  her  with  a  zeal,  care  and 
gentle  solicitude  few  nurses  could  have  equaled  ;  but  re- 
sisting all  iier  efforts  to  draw  him  into  conversation. 

"  By  and  by,  daughter  ;  be  patient,  and  thee  will  learn 
all,"  Avas  ever  Ids  firm  reply — given  in  the  very  gentlest 
of  tones. 

Left,  thus,  to  herself  and  her  own  thoughts,  as  she 
grew  stronger  Christie's  miiul  strove  to  comprehend  and 
account  for  the  motive  that  had  prompted  Willard  to 
commit  so  dreadful  a  deed.  That  it  was  he,  she  never  for 
a  moment  thought  of  doubting.  That  the  act  had  been 
premeditated,  the  note  he  sent  her  ap])ointing  the  meet- 
ing— on  that  loTiely  spot,  at  the  dead  hour  of  the  niglit — 
fully  proved.  ]5ut  his  motive  ?  That,  too,  she  had 
settled  in  her  own  mind.  She  had  heard  that  he  loved 
Sybil  Campbell  before  he  met  her.  Now,  Sybil  was  an 
heiress — courted  and  admired  by  all  for  her  beauty  and 
wealth — what  so  natural,  then,  as  that  he  should  Avish  to 
nnike  this  peerless  Queen  of  the  Isle  his  bride  !  Slie  was 
the  oidy  obstacde  that  stood  in  his  way  ;  therefore,  he  had, 
no  doubt,  resolved  to  murder  her,  to  nudce  w;iy  for  Sybil. 
Perhaps,  too,  lie  h.ad  heard  her  m^^ssage  to  Sybil,  and, 
guessing  its  pui"j)ort,  resolved  that  the  secret  of  this 
marriage  should  never  go  forth.  Long  before  she  had  felt 
he  was  tin  I  of  her  ;  but  she  had  never  before  dreamed  he 
wished  for  her  death.  Yes,  she  felt  as  firndy  convinced 
that  it  was  his  hand  that  had  struck  the  blow — she  felt  as 
firmly  convinced,  too,  that  these  were  his  motives,  as  she 
did  of  her  very  existence  ;  and  yet,  in  the  face  of  all  this, 
she  loved  him  still.      Yes  !   loved  him  so  well — forgave 


15 


CHRISTIE. 


191 


him  so  freely — that  she  resolved  ho  should  never  kiiov 
of  lier  existence — she  would  no  longer  stjiiid  ]jet\ve»'fi 
him  and  lia})piiio.ss.  Sho  woidd  never  returii  to  the  worUl 
she  had  so  neai'ly  quiLtcd  ;  slie  wouhl  lly  far  away  where 
no  one  wouhl  ever  know  or  hear  of  lier  ;  or  she  would  stuy 
bnried  liore  in  the  (K![»ths  of  the  forest  with  this  I'eeliise, 
"wlioever  he  w.-is,  if  lie  would  peruiit  her.  She  thoui;lit  of 
]\lrs.  Tom  aiul  Carl  ;  they  were  the  only  ones  in  the  wide 
■world  who  eared  for  her.  IIow  would  tiny  account  for 
lier  absence — what  construetion  would  they  put  on  her 
sudden  flight  ?  She  could  not  tell ;  hut  she  felt  loni^  be- 
fore this  that  they  hail  given  her  u\^  for  lost,  and  this 
gj'ief  for  her  loss  would  soon  abate.  Yes  I  her  resolution 
was  taken  ;  she  would  never  go  back  to  the  island  more. 

With  this  determination  taken,  her  mind  grew  calm  ; 
for  hers  was  not  a  nature  for  long  or  passionate  grief.  It 
is  true,  she  wept  convulsively  at  times  ;  but  this  mood 
would  soon  pass  away,  and  she  would  lie  quietly,  calndy, 
for  hours  after,  watching  the  trees  sleeping  in  the  sun- 
shine, willing  to  submit  quietly  to  whatever  the  future 
might  have  in  store  for  her — like  a  stray  leaf  whirling 
down  the  stream  of  life,  willing  to  set  whichever  way  the 
current  willed. 

Her  strange,  rough-looking,  but  really  gentle  nurse  was 
still  indefatigable  in  his  cares  for  her  ;  but  as  yet  he  had 
told  her  nothing  of  himself,  nor  his  ;  ')ject  in  visiting  the 
island  that  night.  Christie  used  to  look  up  in  his  hardy, 
honest  face  sometimes,  and  wonder  vaguely,  as  she  did 
everything  else,  what  possible  reason  could  have  brought 
him  there.  One  other  circumstance  perplexed  her  not  a 
little.  Once  or  twice  she  had.  caught  sight  of  a  female 
form  and  face  moving  about  in  the  outer  room  ;  it  had 
been  only  a  momentary  glimpse,  and  yet  it  vividly  recalled 
the  wild,  weird  woman  she  had  seen  in  the  island  on  lier 
bridal  night.  There  was  the  same  pale,  strange  face  ; 
the  same  wild,  streami.ig  black  hair  ;  tiic  same  dark, 
woful  eyes  ;  and  Christie  trembled,  in  superstitious  terror, 
as  she  thought  of  her.  Many  times,  too,  she  heard  a 
light,  quick  footstep  moving  about,  which  she  knew  could 
not  belong  to  her  host  ;  the  soft  rustling  of  female  gar- 
meiits  ;  and  at  times,  but  very  rarely,  a  low,  musical  V(.>ice 
talking  softly  as  if  to  herself.  All  this  perplexed  and 
troubled  Christie  ;   and  she  would   have  asked  the  man 


ih 


192 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


it        i 

I 


,1 
1  ■*■' 

I: 


about  her,  only — Jis  lie  never  by  any  chance  mentioned 
her  himself — she  feared  offending  him  by  what  might 
seem  imperlineiit  curiosity. 

In  a  few  (hiys,  Christie  was  well  enough  to  sit  up  at  tlie 
wiiulow  of  her  room,  and  drink  in  the  health-giving,  ex- 
hilarating air,  and  lislcn  to  the  songs  of  tlie  birds  in  tlie 
trees  around.  She  saw  that  this  hut — it  was  little  more — 
was  situated  in  tiie  very  dei)tlis  of  the  great  forest,  far  re- 
moved from  every  otlier  habitation.  As  yet,  she  had  not 
stei)ped  beyond  tlie  precincts  of  her  narrow  chamber  ;  but 
one  morning,  tempted  out  by  the  genial  warmth  and  in- 
vigorating beauty  of  the  day,  she  had  arisen  for  the  ])ur- 
pose  of  going  out  for  a  short  walk. 

As  she  entered  the  outer  room,  she  glanced  around 
with  some  curiosity.  It  was  a  small,  square  apartment, 
scarcely  larger  than  the  one  she  had  quitted,  containing- 
little  furniture,  and  that  jf  the  rudest  kind.  Two  small, 
uncurtained  windows  admitted  the  bright  sui^shine,  and 
opposite  the  door  was  a  low,  smoky  looking  fireplace.  A 
bed  occupied  one  corner,  and  a  primitive-looking  deal 
table  the  other.  Xo  one  was  in  the  room  ;  but  the  door 
stood  wide  open,  and  in  the  porch  beyond  Christie  caught 
sight  of  a  female  form  sitting  on  the  ground  with  its  bar  . 
toward  her.  There  was  no  mistaking  those  long,  black, 
flowing  tresses,  and  for  a  moment  she  hesitated  and  drew 
back  in  terror.  But  her  attitude  and  manner  showed  her 
to  be  no  phantom  of  an  excited  imagination,  but  a  woman 
like  herself  ;  and  curiosity  proving  stronger  tlian  dread, 
Christie  softly  approached,  but  with  a  fluttering  heart. 
Whether  the  woman  heard  her  or  not,  she  did  not  move, 
and  Chi'istie  was  permitted  to  approach  and  look  over  her 
shoulder  unnoticed.  A  little  gray  and  white  kitten  was 
in  her  lap,  which  went  spinning  round  and  round  after  a 
straw,  wliicii  the  woman  held  above  its  head — now  and 
then  breaking  into  a  peal  of  silvery  laughter  at  its  futile 
attempts  to  catch  it.  Surprise  at  this  unexpected  occu- 
pation held  Christie  for  a  time  spellbound  ;  but  reassured, 
now,  that  the  person  she  beheld  was  flesh  and  blood  like 
lierself  she  passed  her,  and  went  out. 

For  a  moment  the  strange  woman  looked  up  from  her 
occupation,  and  glanced  at  Christie  ;  and  then,  without 
further  notice,  resumed  her  play  with  the  kitten  just  as  if 
she  had  not  soon  her  at  all.     But  in  that  cue  brief,  fleet- 


CITUI8TIE. 


103 


r 

b 
f 


ing  glance,  Christie  read  lier  sad  story.     The  woman  be- 
fore iier  was  insane. 

Jn  mingled  sorrow,  snrprise  and  cnriosity,  Chrislio 
stood  gazing  upon  iier.  She  couhl  do  so  with  perfect  im- 
punity— for  the  woman  never  raised  iier  eyes  to  look  at 
her  after  tliat  one  careless,  passing  glance,  every  faculty 
being  api)arently  al),sorbed  by  iicr  straw  and  licr  kitten. 
In  years  she  miglit  liave  been  five  and  tiiirty,  with  a  face 
winch,  in  spite  of  its  total  want  of  expression,  was  slid 
singularly  ])eautiful.  Jler  tall,  slender  form  was  ex- 
quisitely rounded  ;  aiul  her  long,  rich,  waving  hair  lloated 
like  black  raveled  silk  over  lier  fair,  sloping  shoulders. 
Every  feature  was  beautifully  chiseled  ;  her  complexion 
dazzlingly  fair,  almost  transparent  ;  and  her  large,  black, 
brilliant  eyes  magnificent,  despite  their  vacant,  idiotic 
stare.  Her  hands  and  feet  were  of  most  aristocratic 
smallness  and  whiteness  ;  for  she  wore  neither  shoes  nor 
stockings.  ][er  dress  was  of  coarse  brown  serge,  but  it 
could  not  mar  the  beautiful  form  it  covered. 

^^foments  passed  unheeded,  while  Christie  stood  gazing 
sadly  on  the  lovely  wreck  of  womanhood  before  lier,  and 
wondering  what  could  liave  driven  her  insane,  and  why 
she  and  this  man  dwelt  alone  here,  so  far  removed  from 
liuman  habitation.  She  wondered  what  relation  they  boro 
to  each  other,  lie  could  not  be  her  father — he  was  not  old 
enough  for  that — neither  could  he  be  her  brother,  they 
were  too  dissimilar  in  looks.  Perhaps  he  was  her  lius- 
band,  but  even  that  did  not  seem  probable.  While  she 
thus  idly  speculated,  the  woman  suddenly  arose,  and, 
clasping  her  kitten  in  her  arms,  turned  and  walked  rapidly 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  woods,  without  glancing  at 
Christie,  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight  among  the  trees. 

"  Who  can  she  be  ?  "  thought  Christie  ;  "  it  is  certainly 
the  same  one  I  saw  that  night  on  the  island,  though  she 
was  raving  mad,  and  this  one  seems  perfectly  harmless.  I 
thought  her  a  ghost  that  night,  and  fainted  ;  and  he  had 
to  tell  Aunt  Tom  some  story  of  liis  own  invention  to  ac- 
count for  it." 

The  thought  brought  back  the  past  so  vividly  to  her 
mind  that  the  maniac  was  forgotten,  and,  sitting  down  on 
a  fallen  tree,  slie  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  gave 
way  to  a  passionate  burst  of  grief. 

It  was  soon  over.     Christie's  paroxysms  of  sorrow  never 


^i;.! 


|!  i.  i 
I! 


I 


i  ' 


194 


TiiK  qi;kkn  ok  tiik  jslk. 


lasted  loii;,',  but  cxliaiistt'd  tlicnisulvcs  by  tbclr  very  vio- 
It'iico  ;  UM(1  slio  Jirost!  to  survey  the  pbico  wliich  sueuiud. 
(li'stiiicd  to  1)1!  her  future  home. 

It  Wiis  u  bejiuLit'ul  sylviin  tfpot.  The  ciibiu  was  built  in 
II  sort  of  uaturiil  seniicirele,  surrouuded  ou  all  sides  by  llie 
dense  priiueval  forest.  A  sniooili  ^n'ass-plot  slojx'd  ^M'litly 
for  some  three  yards  in  front  of  tlie  house,  ami  then  was 
broken  on  one  side  ))y  clumps  of  bkishes,  and  on  tiie  other 
by  a  little  elear  ei'ystal  stream  that  danced  over  the  \vhit«! 
pebbles  flashint,^  like  ])earls  in  the  sunlight.  Hehiiui  the 
house  was  a  sort  of  ve<,njlable  <jjard(Mi,  with  a  narrow  space 
reserved  for  llowers — l>etokeuin<^  the  relined  taste  of  the 
gardener.  The  house  itself  was  a  low.  rouLfh  unpretend- 
ing-looking' cabin  of  the  smallest  and  plainest  dimensions. 
Not  a  sound  broke  the  deep  stillness  ,save  the  musical 
ripple  of  the  little  stream,  the  songs  of  the  birds,  the  soft 
swaying  of  the  trees  ;  and  involuntarily  the  deep  j)eace  of 
the  seene  passed  into  Christie's  heart,  sootiiing  itiuto  calm- 
ness once  more. 

As  she  sat  gazing  around,  a  heavy  footstep  came  crash- 
ing through  Hie  trees  and  the  next  moment  her  liost  stood 
before  her,  with  a  giin  in  one  haiul  and  a  game  bag  well 
filled  slung  over  his  shoulder. 

He  advanced  to  where  she  sat,  looking  surprised  and 
pleased  to  see  her  there. 

"So  thee  has  vi.'ntured  out,  n)y  daughter!"  he  said, 
with  his  kindly  voice  ai  J  kindlier  smile.  *'l  am  glad  to 
see  thee  al)le  to  leave  thy  room  once  more." 

"  Yes,  the  day  was  so  tine,  ami  the  sunshiiu^  so  bright 
and  warm,  I  could  not  resist  the  tein[)tation,''said  Christie. 
"  I  see  you  have  been  shooting  with  good  success." 

"Yes;  game  is  i)lenty  in  our  woods,"  he  answered,  re- 
placing his  gun  on  a  couple  of  hooks  in  the  porch.  "  But 
thee  had  better  come  in  now  ;  it  is  not  good  for  thee  to 
sit  too  long  in  the  hot  sun,  thee  knows." 

Christie  rose  half  reluctantly,  and  followed  him  into  the 
liouse.  The  man  drew  a  low  wicker  rocking-chair  close  to 
the  open  window. 

**'  Sit  thee  there,  child,  I  know  invalids,  like  thee,  like  to 
rock  backward  and  forward  ;  it's  very  quieting  to  the  feel- 

•.._.  T  1  111  1  *  «« 


mgs.     I  must  get  the  dinner  now." 


•  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Christie,  anxious  to  be  useful. 


*^  Let  me  get  the  dinner." 


cinnsTiK. 


105 


•> 


,0 

le 

0 


*'  By  no  nu'ans,  daiiulitor."  said  llic  man,  uiih  liia 
pleasant  sn\'\\o  :  "tlu'c  is  Loo  weak  to  work  vrt  :  ami,  Ite- 
sides,  I  liavc  nothing  cl.se  to  do.  Sir  tlii'c  down  ilu'i-e; 
for  now  tliat  tliec  is  strong'  (.'noii^uli  to  iicai'  it,  I  want  lo 
have  a  litth-  talk  with  ihoe." 

('hri.stie  sunk  anxiously  into  the  (diair.  and  wailcil  for 
what  was  to  coniu.  The  man  took  a  hrac-c  of  part  i'id;^'t'3 
out  of  his  l);i^-,  and,  jihicin^'  them  on  the  taldc,  di'cw  up 
liis  cliair,  and  hi'i:an  takin<r  <dV  the  feathers  and  eoiivers- 
ini,^  with  ("hristic  at  the  same  tiiuf. 

•'I''irst,  my  daughter,  1  should  like  to  kn«»w  what  is  thy 
name." 

'*  Ciiristie,"  was  the  res[)onse. 

'*  lias  thee  no  other  ?  ** 

'•1  am  sometimes  called  'rondinsoii,  hut  that  is  not  my 
name.     I  am  an  orplnin,  ami  live  with  my  aunt. 

"  Where  is  thy  native  ))lafe  ?  " 

"Camphell's  Jsland,"  said  Christie,  in  a  slightly  tremu- 
lous voice. 

''Ah!"  said  the  man,  in  some  surprise,  ''if  1  had 
known  that,  \  would  not  have  brought  thee  liere.  t 
thouirht  thee  was  a  stran:j:er.  Pot-s  thee  belong  to  tlio 
Campbells  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  lived  with  Mrs.  Tom,  the  widow  who  re- 
sides in  the  island." 

'*  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  said  the  host,  th.oughtfully  ;  "I  havo 
seen  tiie  woman  thee  means.  Uut  how  eanu3  thee,  child, 
CO  be  lying  stabbed  on  the  boacli  thai  stormy  night  ?  " 

''  Sir,  there  is  a  long  story  connected  with  that — which, 
at  present,  you  must  excuse  my  not  telling.  I  cannot  do 
so  without  involving  others,  and  that  I  do  not  wish  to  do,"' 
replied  Christie,  trying  to  steady  her  trembling  voice. 

''As  thee  pleases,  cliild,  as  thee;  jdeases,"  said  the  man, 
kindly.  "  Do  not  s])eak  of  it  if  it  hurts  thy  feelings.  I 
merely  asked  from  the  interest  I  take  in  thee.  But,  how 
about  returning  to  thy  friends  ?  Thee  wishes  to  do  so,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no  I "  cried  Christie,  with  involi;ntary 
vehemence.     "Oh,  I  never  wish  to  go  back  again  I" 

"  Does  thee  not  ?  "  said  her  host,  fixing  his  strong  gray 
eyes  on  her  face,  in  grave  surprise.  '"  Thee  has  good 
reason  for  that,  doubtless  ?  " 

"  Oh,  1  have — 1  have  I     Some  day  I  will  tell  you  all,  but 


!;        Vl 


100 


TlIK  QUKKX  OF  TIIK  ISLE. 


11 


\m 


not  iiuw.  I  liiivo  no  OIK.*  to  Jirinise  or  to  bljiino  ;  ami  tlio 
only  fricfnds  1  liiivo  li;iv(!  couscmI  to  tliink  of  nie  as  living 
Ix'Tort!  this.  If  I  njtnnied  to  tlicni,  tlicro  arc  niany  who 
"Won hi  \)v  r('n(h'r('(l  niiscrahle  for  life  ;  and  as  they  all 
think  nic  (h'ud,  1  intend  to  he  so  to  tJieni." 

All  her  coura^'e  iiave  way  here,  and  l)()wini;  her  face  in 
lu'r  hands,  she  <,^ave  vent  to  one  of  her  wild,  i)assioiuito 
bursts  of  tears. 

Tho  man's  faee  expressed  deep  sympalliy  and  comj)as- 
eion  ;  he  diil  not  speak  nor  interrupt  her  till  the  violeneo 
of  her  sudden  Lirief  was  abated,  and  then  he  iiKfuired,  in 
his  (Mistomary  (piiet  tone  : 

"And  what  does  thee  intend  to  do,  my  daughter  ?" 

"  1  do  not  know  yet,''  said  Ciiristie,  raisini"*  her  head. 
*'  I  will  fjo  asvay  somewhere  and  work  for  my  living, 
^vhere  I  will  never  be  heard  of  a*;ain." 

"'  Poor  little  one  !  what  can  thee  do  for  a  living  ?"  said 
the  nnm,  com))assioiuitely.  ''  Thee  is  too  snndl  and  del- 
icate to  work,  and  never  was  made  to  bullet  the  storms  of 
this  rou^h  world.'' 

"  I  will  not  Inive  to  wait  long  ;  I  will  die  I  "  said  Christie, 
sadly. 

"That  thee  will,  if  thee  takes  thy  place  among  the 
workers  in  the  outer  circle  of  life.  So  thee  is  fully  de- 
termined never  to  go  back  to  thy  friends  y  " 

"  Oh,  never  I  never  !  I  would  rather  die.  All  I  wish, 
all  I  hope  and  pray  for,  is  that  they  never  discover  1  am 
alive." 

*'  Then  stay  with  us  ;  thee  will  not  have  to  work  at  all, 
and  no  one  will  ever  hear  of  thee  any  more  than  if  thee 
was  thousands  of  miles  away.  We  are  buried  here  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  forest,  where  peo})le  very  rarely  come  ; 
and  if  any  one  did  come,  thee  could  easily  be  con/ealed  till 
they  went  away.  I  know  it  is  dull  and  lonely  here,  but 
thee  will  get  reconciled  to  that  in  time." 

'•Oh,  tliis  is  just  what  I  wished,  but  I  hardly  dared 
ho))e  for  I  "  exclaimed  Christie,  with  sparkling  eyes. 
*'  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  for  your  generous  offer  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish  for  thanks,  my  daughter,  and  thee  will 
oblige  me,  friend  Christie,  by  not  mentioning  it  more. 
'J'liou  wilt  bo  very  useful,  and  can  take  care  of  Bertha, 
who  is  insane,  but  quite  harmless.  Thou  hast  seeu  her, 
has  thee  uot  ?  " 


CHRISTIE. 


l'.)7 


«( 


ill 


The  haiulsonie  woman  witii  the  dark  liair  and  eyes  ? 
Yes,'*  replied  Christie. 

^'Tlien  that  is  settled/*  said  the  man,  with  a  smile; 
**  and  now  that  I  have  questioned  thee,  it  is  tiiy  turn. 
Does  thee  wish  to  ask  something  ?" 

*'  Oh,  yes,  ever  so  many  tiiin;;s,"  said  Christie,  'M)ut  I 
am  afraid  you  may  not  like — that  you  may  i)e  utTended." 

'*  There  is  no  danger  of  that,  my  daughter.  1  nniy  not 
choose  to  answer  some  of  thy  questions,  hut  I  will  not  ho 
offended,  let  thee  say  what  theo  wiU." 

**Well,  then,"  said  Christie,  witii  a  faint  smile,  "to 
begin  cuLoehizing  after  the  same  fashion  as  yourself — may 
1  ask  your  name  and  that  of  the  lady  who  lives  iiert;  ?  " 

**  Yes  ;  her  name  is  liertha  Camj)heil — mine  is  IJcuheji 
Dcerwood  ;  thee  may  call  me  Uncle  Reuben,  if  tliee  likes." 

*'  'J'hen  she  is  no  relation  to  you  ?" 

*'  She  is  my  cousin — no  more." 

"  Once  before,"  said  Christie,  hesitatingly,  ''  I  asked  you 
about  how  you  came  to  he  on  the  island  that  stormy  night. 
You  did  not  tell  me  then.  May  I  repeat  the  question 
now  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Bertiui,  though  usually  quiet,  has  certain 
paroxysms  of  violence,  during  which,  witii  the  usual  cun- 
ning of  insanity,  she  sometimes  eludes  my  vigilance,  and 
escapes.  On  these  occasions  she  goes  down  to  the  shore, 
takes  a  boat  and  goes  over  to  the  islatid.  I,  of  course, 
follow  her  ;  and  it  was  one  of  these  times  I  happened  to  be 
there.  That  afternoon  she  had  gone  over,  and  was  wander- 
ing through  the  pine  woods.  I  went  after  her,  and  just 
reached  the  island  as  that  furious  storm  came  on.  I  wan- 
dered around  for  a  long  time  without  finding  her  ;  and  iji 
my  search,  somewhere  about  midnight,  I  providentially 
chanced  to  reach  the  spot  where  thee  hiy  wounded  and  ex- 
posed to  the  fury  of  the  storm.  The  lide  was  rising  on 
the  shore,  and,  five  minutes  later,  thee  would  have  been 
swept  away.  I  lifted  thee  in  my  arms  and  carried  theo 
down  to  the  boat,  instead  of  following  my  first  intention 
of  leaving  thee  at  the  cottage  or  at  Campbell's  Lodge.  I 
did  not  wish  to  let  it  be  known  I  was  on  the  island.  Then 
I  heard  a  voice  screaming  *  ^lurdor  ! '  and  I  knew  it  must 
be  Bertha  ;  so  I  set  off  to  look  for  her  again,  and  found 
her  just  coming  out  of  the  l^odge.  I  had  to  bind  her 
hand  and  foot,  and  tie  a  handkerchief  over  her  mouth — 


«f'  : 


r.  r 


1'^ 


I     ^ 


ilh: 


fi!l''^ 


,! 

! 

1 

' 

1 

! 

! 

;' 

II 

i 

198 


TV 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


\' 


to  keep  her  qiiict  ;  und  there  I  waited  till  tiie  storm  had 
abated.  It  was  near  noon  the  next  day  when  we  reached 
the  shore,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  here,  and,  Bertha's 
)aroxy.sm  bciiig  over,  she  followed  nie  quietly  home. 
Vliile  I  earrictl  thot',  I  feared  thee  was  dead  for  a  long 
time,  and  oidy  I  ha2i})ened  to  have  a  ij:ood  deal  of  knowl- 
ed<^e  of  surgery,  the-.!  ixfver  would  hav<j  recMjverud.  That 
is  tlie  whole  history," said  "  IJnele  Reuben,"  rising,  with 
a  smile,  and  hanging  his  partridges  over  the  fire  to  roast. 

A  light  had  broken  on  the  mind  of  Christie  while  he 
spoke.  This  woman  must  be  the  apparition  that  had  so 
often  ])een  seen  on  the  isle,  and  had  given  it  the  name  of 
being  haunted. 

"  May  I  ask,''  slie  said,  eagerly,  "  if  this — if  Bertha  has 
been  in  the  liabit  of  vi;di.ing  the  island  ?'' 

"  Yes,  such  is  her  habit,  at  times,"  said  Reuben,  gravely. 
**  About  the  full  of  the  moon  she  gets  these  bad  turns,  and 
generally  makes  her  escape  to  the  island,  though  some- 
times I  prevent  her.     Has  thee  ever  seen  her  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  once,"  said  Christie  ;  "  but  1  thought  she  was  a 
spirit." 

'^More  tiian  thee  has  thought  that,  friend  Christie  ;  but 
thee  need  not  be  afraid  of  her  ;  she  is  pei'iectly  harmless." 

"  Why  is  it  she  always  goes  to  the  island  at  such  times  ?" 
paid  Christie,  curiously. 

The  num's  face  clouded. 

*' There  is  a  long  story  connected  with  that,  my  daugh- 
ter— a  stid  story  of  Avrong  and  crime.  Some  day,  soon.  I 
will  tell  it  to  tin  ',  if  tlioe  reminds  me  of  it." 

"  J[ow  long  li  .s  she  been  insane  ?" 

'' Nearly  fourteen  years." 

"  A  long  time,  indeed.  I  should  like  to  hear  her  history 
very  much.  Do  you  iu)t  fear  she  has  gone  to  the  island 
now  ?     1  saw  her  go  into  the  woods  an  hour  ago." 

"  No  ;  she  has  oidy  gone  for  a  stroll  thr(nigh  the  ti-ees, 
or  to  look  for  l>erries  ;  she  will  soon  be  back — and  here 
she  is,"  he  added,  as  the  woman  Bertha  abruptly  entered, 
her  kitten  still  in  her  aruis  :  ami  without  looking  or 
speaking  to  either  of  them,  she  sat  down  on  a  low  stool, 
and  began  sorting  sotne  pine  cones  held  in  her  lap. 

All  this  time  the  man  Reul)en  had  been  getting  dinner 
and  setting  the  table,  proving  himself  to  be  as  good  a  cook 
as  nurse.     In  a  few  minutes,  it  was  smoking  on  the  table ; 


THE  MANIAC'S  STORY. 


109 


J 


and  then  lie  went  over  and,  tapping  the  woman  on  tlio 
shoulder,  said  gently  : 

''  Is  thee  ready  for  dinner,  Bertha  ?  " 

*'  Yes,"  she  said,  rising  promptly,  and  taking  her  s^^at. 

Cliristie  took  the  place  pointed  ont  to  Irt  ;  and  Unele 
Reuben,  taking  the  head  oi'  the  tabh\  did  the  honors. 

Then,  when  the  meal  was  over.  Bertha  resnmcd  her  stool 
and  her  ])ine  cones  ;  Christie  took  tiie  rocking-chair  by  the 
window,  and  Reuben  bnsiod  himself  m  clearing  awav  the 
dinner  dishes,  and  setting  things  to  rights. 

Weak  still,  and  exhausted  by  the  elTors  of  the  morning, 
Christie  throw  herself  on  her  bed,  dnrina  'lie  course  of  the 
afternoon,  and  fell  into  the  profound  and  refreshing  sleep 
of  bodily  weariness,  from  which  she  did  not  awaken  until 
the  bustle  of  preparing  supper  aroused  her. 

In  the  evening,  Rcubon  took  down  an  old,  antiquated- 
looking  Bible  and  read  a  few  chapters  aloud  ;  and  then 
they  all  retired  to  their  se])arate  couches. 

And  thus  bes:an  Christie's  new  life — a  life  of  endh-ss 
monotony,  but  one  of  perfect  peaco.  As  tin;  days  piissed 
on,  bringing  with  them  no  change  or  exciu^uent,  she 
QTadnallv  settled  down  into  a  sort  of  dreamy  letharofy,  dis- 
tnrbed  now  and  then,  as  some  circumstance  would  forcil)ly 
recall  all  she  had  loved  and  lost  forever,  by  short,  passion- 
ate outbursts  of  gi'ief,  but  which  were  always  followed  by 
a  deeper  and  more  settled  melancholy  than  before. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE  MAXIAC  S  STORY. 

"All  was  ('(.nfuseil  and  midcfiiu'cl 
111  her  iill-j;irre(l  ainl  waii'lcriut^  mind  ; 
A  chaos  of  w  ild  hopes  and  fears  — 
And  now  in  iauuditor,  now  in  tours  ; 
Bnt  madly  s'ill  in  oach  fxtr'-mf, 
Slie  sliuve  with  ihut  convulsive  dream." 


— BVRON. 


Autumn  was  at  hand.  I^he  woods  were  gorgeous  in  their 
radiant  robes  of  gold  and  purple  and  crimson.  Christie's 
chief  pleasure  was  in  wandering  through  the  forest  and 
gazing  on  the  brilliant  jewelry  of  nature.  The  wcv-^ks  that 
had  passed  had  restored  her  to  health,  but  her  step  had 
not  regained  its  elastic  lightness  ;  her  voice  had  lost  its  old 


Ii^ 


i 


i<: 


m 


I' 

I''   : 

i 


.:  1 


! 


]H  \ 


H 


500 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


joyous  tones  ;  her  once  roseate  cheek  had  lost  forever  its 
vivid  bloom,  and  the  bright,  joyous  light  of  hope  and 
happiness  had  died  out  in  the  deep,  melancholy  blue  eyes. 
She  moved  through  the  little  forest  cabin,  the  shadow  of 
her  former  self,  pale,  v/an  and  spiritual.  And  in  looking 
at  her  slight,  delicate  figure,  her  fair,  transparent  little 
face,  with  its  sad,  haunting  eyes,  you  might  have  thought 
her  some  fair  vision  of  another  world,  and  almost  expect  to 
see  her  fade  away  before  your  very  eyes. 

It  was  very  lonesome,  buried  there  in  the  depths  of  the 
forest,  witii  no  companions  but  the  man  Reuben  and 
the  maniac  Bertha.  But  its  very  loneliness  made  it 
all  the  more  welcome  to  our  little  recluse,  who  dreaded  noth- 
ing so  much  as  a  discovery  ;  and  in  roaming  through  the 
grand  old  woods  slie  felt  she  never  wanted  to  leave  this 
solitary  spot  again.  At  any  other  time  she  ivould  have 
shrunk  in  terror  from  tlie  prospect  of  passing  the  long, 
dreary  winter  here,  when  even  the  comfort  of  these  walks 
would  be  denied  her.  How  little  did  she  dream  of  all  that 
was  to  occur  before  that  winter  came  ! 

Reuben's  absence  to  N to   buy  necessaries  for  the 

little  family,  were  the  only  incidents  that  broke  the  un- 
varying monotony  of  their  life.  At  first  Christie  had  been 
somewhat  afraid  of  remaining  alone  with  Bertha  ;  but  find- 
ing she  was,  as  Reuben  had  said,  perfectly  harmless — sit- 
ting for  hours  together  playing  with  her  kitten — she  had 
soon  recovered  from  tliis  fear.  Love  was  a  necessity  of 
Christie's  life,  and  as  time  pjtssed  slie  learned  to  love  Ber- 
tha with  a  deep,  earnest  love  that  sometimes  surprised 
even  herself.  The  maniac,  too,  in  her  own  fitful,  uncertain 
way  seemed  to  return  this  love,  and  would  sit  for  half  a  day 
at  a  time  with  her  head  lying  in  Christie's  lap,  and  the 
vacant,  childish  smile  on  her  face. 

As  for  Reuben,  no  one  could  know  him,  with  his  simple 
goodness  and  benevolence,  without  loving  him  ;  and  Chris- 
tie already  loved  and  revered  him  as  a  father,  while  he 
felt  an  affection  for  his  little  stray  waif  second  only  to  that 
which  he  felt  for  Bertha. 

x\s  yet  he  liad  not  told  her  the  history  of  the  maniac  ; 
and  Christie,  for  tlie  most  part  absorbed  in  her  own  sad 
thoughts,  had  almost  forgotten  it  ;  but  one  cold  and  blus- 
tering night,  as  she  drew  her  low  rocking-chair  up  to  the 
fire,  while  her  nimble  fingers  busily  flew  in  making  some 


THE  MANIAC'S  STORY. 


201 


.\ 


warm  clothing  for  the  winter,  she  reminded  him  of  liis 
promise  and  urged  him  to  rehite  the  story. 

Bertha  liad  already  retired  and  lay  asleep  in  her  bed  in 
tlie  corner  of  the  kitchen,  and  Reuben,  his  day's  work  done, 
sat  opposite  Christie,  making  wicker  baskets,  wliich  he  was 

in  the  habit  of  taking  to  N at   intervals  to  sell,  and 

which  constituted  the  principal  income  of  the  fannly. 

'^It  seems  a  sad  thing  tp  recall  days  so  long  past,''  said 
Reuben,  with  a  sigh  ;  '*  but  thee  deserves  to  know,  Chris- 
tie, for  waiting  so  long  and  patiently.  And,  niy  daugliter, 
when  thee  hears,  thee  may  think  it  striingo  that  there  should 
be  so  much  wickedness  in  this  world  ;  but  the  Lord  will 
redeem  His  servants  in  His  own  good  time. 

"  Let  me  r]ee  ;  it  requires  time  to  look  so  far  back.  My 
father  was  a  farmer,  living  in  Coniu'cticnit,  and  belonged 
to  the  Society  of  Friends,  He  had  a  brother,  it  seems — a 
wild  youtl),  who  ran  away  at  the  age  of  sixteen  and  went 
to  sea.  Eight  years  passed  before  they  received  any  news 
whether  lie  was  living  or  dead  ;  and  then  a  letter  came  to 
my  father  from  liim,  saying  he  was  in  Spain,  in  a  place 
called  Grenada,  and  was  nuirried  to  a  Spanish  girl  of  that 
place. 

"  After  that,  for  fourteen  years  more,  we  heard  iu)thing 
else  from  him,  until  one  cold  winter  night,  as  we  were  all 
sitting  around  the  fire,  there  catne  a  knock  at  the  door  ; 
and  when  one  of  my  sisters  opened  it  a  man,  dressed  like 
«i  sailor,  entered,  leading  a  little  girl  of  twelve  years  old  by 
the  hand.  That  man  was  my  father's  long-absent  brother, 
whose  wife  was  dead,  aiul  who  wished  to  place  his  only 
child  with  his  friends  before  he  went  to  sea  agjiin.  That 
child  is  now  the  numiac  Bertha  thee  sees  on  that  bed." 

Uncle  Reuben's  lips  quivered  a  little  as  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  still  beautiful  face  of  the  sleeper,  and  Christie  listened 
with  a  look  of  the  deepest  interest. 

"-  Bertha,  though  only  a  child  then,"  said  L^ncle  Reu- 
ben, resuming  his  work,  ''  was  taller  and  more  womanly 
looking  than  many  girls  of  sixteen,  with  the  most  beauti- 
ful face  thee  ever  saw  in  thy  life,  ^fy  three  sisters  were 
then  accounted  very  handsome  girls  by  everybody  ;  bnt 
they  were  no  more  to  be  compared  to  her  than  candles  are 
to  stars.  They  liad  fine,  healthy  figures  and  red  clieeks  iuul 
round,  merry  faces  ;  but  slie  had  a  dark,  oval  face,  with 
long,  beautiful  black  curls  and  large,   nu'laneholy  dark 


! 


u 


t:il 


203 


THE  QUEF.X  OF  THE  ISLE. 


eyes.  All,  my  daughter,  thee  looks  as  if  thee  thought  her 
beautiful  still,  but  she  is  nothing  now  to  whiVj  siie  was 
then. 

*'  ]^)ertha  could  speak  very  little  English  then — hardly  a 
word  ;  and  1  reineniber  how  the  villagers  used  to  laugh  at 
her  atteiui)Ls  to  talk  with  them  ;  luit  when  they  looked  at 
her  mourning  dress  and  sad,  beautiful  face,  their  laughter 
quickly  ceased. 

"  ller  father,  who,  though  not  ricli,  had  some  money, 
wishe<l  her  to  be  sent  to  some  good  boarding-school,  where 
she  could  acquire  a  g(jod  education,  lie  was  going  off  on 
some  voyage  in  whicli  he  expected  to  make  his  fortune,  and 
when  he  caiuf!  back,  hesaid,  I^ertha  should  be  a  urcat  hulv. 

*'  Accordingly,  three  weeks  after  she  came  she  was  sent 
away  to  a  boarding-school,  and  I  do  not  think  there  was 
one  sorrier  to  bid  her  c^ood-bv  then  (hau  I  was.  Tier  father 
the  next  day  went  away  in  his  ship,  destined  to  some  far- 
off  place  Vvhich  he  was  never  doomed  to  reach  ;  for  a 
month  after  news  came  that  the  ves.sel  was  wrecked  and 
all  hands  c;ist  away,  and  15ertlia  had  no  living  relatives  in 
this  country  except  us. 

"  As  her  father,  before  he  went,  had  made  abundant 
provision  for  her  schooling  in  case  anything  should  hap- 
pen, iscrtha  remained  five  years  at  school.  We  saw  very 
little  of  her  all  this  time,  for  she  mostly  spent  her  vacations 
with  her  fi'iends,  the  schoolgirls  ;  but  when  the  period  of 
her  stay  had  elapsed  she  came  back  to  the  old  homestead. 
AVe  had  parted  from  her  a  beautiful  child  ;  but  she  re- 
turned a  wo!n;in — peerless,  superb — a  perfect  vision  of 
beauly.  Everybody  was  r;;ving  about  her.  All  the  young 
men  far  and  near  were  in  love  with  her  ;  but  Bertha  never 
seemed  tc  c;ire  for  any  of  them,  and  used  to  spend  her 
time  embroidiu'ins^  or  reading  orplavino'  on  the  :»-uitar  and 
singing  Spanish  songs  about  '  Beautiful  Grenada.'  I  was 
a  vounii:  man,  then,  some  seven  and  twentv  vears  of  aijre  ; 
and  I.  too,  like  the  rest,  fell  in  love  with  my  beautiful, 
dark-eyed  cousin.  It  was  a  hopeless  love,  and  I  knew  it  ; 
I  felt  that  she  was  as  far  above  me  as  heaven  is  above  the 
earth,  and  I  locked  my  secret  in  my  own  bosom  and  re- 
solved I  would  never  give  her  a  moment's  pain  by  telling 
her  of  it. 

**  I  was,  however,  her  favorite  ;  there  were  two  more 
brothers,  but  she  liked  me  best — but  only  with  a  sisterly 


} 

e 


g 


e 

y 


THE  MANIAC'S  STORY. 


2on 


love.  To  mo  alone  she  used  Lo  speak  of  the  vine-clad  liills 
of  Spain  ;  of  her  boautit'ul  dead  niother,  and  of  lu'i*  long- 
ings for  sunny  Grenada  once  more.  And  J  used  to  sit  and 
listen  and  sympathize  with  her,  and  keep  down  the  yearn- 
ing desire  that  nsed  to  till  my  heart  to  kneel  at  her  feefc 
and  ask  her  to  give  me  the  rigiit  to  take  her  there. 

'•'  Ah,  little  (Jhristie.  thee  may  wonder  how  such  a 
rough,  nneouth  man  as  I  am  could  ever  feel  love  like  this  ; 
but  1  could  have  died  then  for  my  beautiful  cousin, 
though  neither  she  nor  any  other  ever  drea.ned  1  cherished 
for  her  other  than  a  cousinly  affection.  When  I  used  to 
see  her  smile  on  other  young  men  and  lean  on  their  arms 
and  listen  and  look  pleased  when  they  talked  and  blush 
when  she  would  meet  their  eyes,  I  used  to  feel  the  demon 
of  jealousy  rising  within  me  ;  and  then  I  would  be  forced 
to  tear  myself  away  from  them  all,  lest  my  looks  or 
actions  might  betray  me.  It  was  very  hard  tnen  to  bear 
my  lot  patiently  ;  but  when,  after  a  while,  ]>ertha  would 
come  back  lo  me  and  tell  me  how  tiresinne  they  all  were, 
and  thai;  I  was  the  dearest,  best  cousin  in  the  world,  and 
"worth  all  the  other  young  men  she  knew  put  togiither,  I 
used  to  feel  recompiHised  for  it  all,  and  I  could  have  knelt 
down  at  her  very  feet  in  gratitude  for  the  words.  These 
were  the  happiest  days  <  f  my  I'fe,  little  friend  ;  and 
tliougli  I  knew  Hertha  coiild  never  love  me.  vet  I  felt  if  I 
might  only  be  near  her  and  know  she  was  haj)py  aiid  see 
her  smile  on  me  sometimes,  1  could  even  be;ir  to  see  her 
married  to  some  man  more  worthy  of  her  th;in  1  was.  I 
do  not  say  there  were  not  times  when  I  was  tempted  to 
murmur  and  wish  In^aven  had  gifted  me  with  a  less  un- 
gaiidy  form,  for  liertha's  s;ike  ;  yet  I  think  I  may  say  I 
strove  to  subdue  all  such  ungrateful  murmurs  and  think 
of  my  many  blessings  ;  and,  on  the  wliole,  I  wns  hnppy. 

''  My  fatlier,  who  was  growing  old  au'l  infn-ni,  loved 
Bertha  with  a  p:issionate  fondness,  and  often  s])oke  of  his 
cherished  wish  of  seeing  her  united  to  oni^  of  his  sons.  I 
was  the  oldest  and  his  favorite,  and  I  knew  his  ardent 
desire  was  to  see  us  niarried  ;  but,  as  this  could  never  be, 
I  always  strove  to  evade  giving  a  direct  answer  to  his 
qnestions  concerning  my  feelings  toward  my  cousin.  To 
l)er  he  had  never  spoken  on  the  subject  ;  V)ut  on  his  death- 
bed he  called  us  to  him,  and,  ])ulting  her  hand  in  nunc, 
charged  us  to  love  one  another  and  become  husband  and 


I 

I't' 


ii.  I 


\u 


IF; 
11 


<  ! 

H 
ilf 


204 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


;:l! '  i 


wife.  Ah  !  there  was  little  need  to  tell  me  to  love  one  I 
almost  worshiped  tih-eady.  ]5erthu's  liiind  lay  passively  in 
mine.  She  was  weeping  convulsively,  and  neither  of  ns 
would  render  his  last  moments  unhappy  by  saying  his 
dearest  wish  could  not  be  fulfilled.  I  thought  then  slio 
had  merely  acfpiiesccd  to  soothe  his  dying  moments,  and 
resolved,  much  as  1  loved  her,  not  to  bind  her  by  any  sueh 
promise.  Hut  in  the  hustle  and  confusion  of  the  next 
three  days  there  was  no  time  for  explanjition,  and  the 
funeral  viis  over  before  I  could  even  speak  a  word  to  lier 
in  jjrivate. 

*'  The  day  after  the  funeral  I  found  her  sitting  alone  in 
a  sort  of  arbor  in  the  foot  of  the  garden  ;  and,  going  u}> 
to  her,  I  said,  with  abrupt  liaste,  for  eve  v  word  seemed 
to  stick  in  my  tliroat  : 

''  *  Bertha,  I  knew  theo  did  not  like  to  refuse  mv  father's 
dying  request  to  nnirry  me  ;  but  as  the  premise  was  given 
against  thy  will,  1  have  taken  the  first  op})ortunity  of  tell- 
ing thee  I  do  not  consider  it  binding,  and,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  thee  may  consider  thyself  quite  free  from  all 
engagement  to  me.' 

"  I  did  not  dare  to  gaze  at  her  as  she  sat  there,  looking 
so  sweet  and  beautiful,  lest  my  resolution  should  falter, 
and  I  turned  away  and  was  about  to  leave  when  her  voice 
recalled  me. 

"  '  Do  you  wish  our  engagement  broken,  cousin  Reu- 
ben ?'  she  said,  softly. 

"*AVishit!'  1  cried  out,  forgetting  prudence,  resolu- 
tion, everything  but  her.  '  Oh,  Bertha,  1  love  you  better 
than  all  the  world  ! ' 

"  ^  Tlion  take  me  for  your  wife,^  she  said,  coming  over, 
and,  pu.^hing  back  the  hair  from  my  face — she  kissed  mo 
and  was  gone. 

''  For  a  while  I  could  not  tell  whether  I  was  sleeping  or 
waking,  her  words  seemed  so  unreal.  I  stood  like  one  in 
a  trance  ;  like  one  in  some  blissful  dream  from  which  he 
fears  to  waken.  I  could  not  realize  that  this  peerlessly 
beautiful  girl  could  be  willing  to  marry  me — a  rough, 
homely,  plodding  farmer.  I  resolutely  shut  my  heart 
against  the  bewildering  conviction  ;  but  that  evening, 
when  we  sat  alone  together,  and  I  asked  her  to  repeat 
what  she  had  said,  she  smiled  at  my  incredulity,  and  told 
me  she  intended  to  be  my  wife  just  as  soon  as  our  term  of 


V 


THE  MAXIAC'S  STORY. 


205 


mourning  expired,  and  tliat  I  might  make  known  our  en- 
gagement as  soon  as  I  liked. 

"  '  Jt  will  save  me  from  being  persecuted  by  the  atten- 
tions of  other  young  men,  you  know,  cousin  Keuben,'  she 
said. 

"  Everybody  was  surprised  when  they  heard  of  it,  for 
she  had  rejected  richer  and  far  handsomer  men  ;  and  for 
a  while  people  refused  to  l)elieve  it.  J)Ut  wlien  they  saw 
us  always  toaether,  and  Bertha  nuictlv  confirmed  the  re- 
port,  they  wei'e  forced  to  the  conviction  tliat  it  really  was 
true,  and  I  was  looked  upon  as  the  most  fortunate  and 
enviable  of  men. 

**  The  next  three  months  I  was  the  liappiest  man  in  the 
world  ;  aiul  in  nine  months  more  we  were  to  ])e  married 
and  go  on  a  tour  of  Spain.  It  seemed  too  much  happiness 
for  me.  I  could  not  realize  that  it  would  everi^rove  true  ; 
md,  alas  !  it  never  did. 

"  One  day  there  came  a  letter  from  a  school  friend  of 
Bertha's  who  lived  in  We?tport,  inviting  her  there  on  a 
visit.  Bertha  wished  to  go  and  no  one  opposed  her  ;  but 
I  saw  her  set  out  with  a  sad  foreboding  ^hat  this  visit 
would  prove  fatal  to  my  new-found  liap])iness. 

"  Three  months  passed  away  before  Bertha  came  back. 
She  used  to  write  to  us,  at  first,  long,  gjiy,  merry  letters, 
telling  us  all  about  the  place  and  the  people  she  met  ;  but 
gradually  her  letters  grew  shorter  and  more  reserved  and 
less  frequent,  and,  for  a  month  before  her  return,  ceased 
altogether.  I  w^as  half-crazed  with  anxiety,  doubts  and 
apprehensions,  and  was  about  to  set  out  for  Westport,  to 
see  if  anything  had  happened,  when  one  day  the  stage 
stopped  at  the  door  and  ]:5ertha  alighted.  Yes,  Bertha — 
but  so  changed  I  hardly  knew  her  ;  pale,  cold  and  re- 
served ;  she  sang  and  laughed  no  longer,  but  used  to  sit 
for  hours,  her  head  on  her  hand,  thinking  and  thinking. 
Bertha  was  bodily  with  us,  but  in  spirit  she  was  far  away 
— where,  I  dared  not  ask.  She  hardly  ever  spoke  now, 
but  sat  bv  herself  in  her  own  room,  exce])t  at  meal  times. 
From  me  she  shrank  with  a  sort  of  dread,  mingled  with 
shame — coloring  and  averting  her  head  when  she  met  my 
eye;  and,  much  as  I  loved  her,  I  used  ever  after  that  to 
shun  meeting  her.  lest  it  should  give  her  pain. 

^'  But,  oh,  Christie,  what  it  cost  me  to  do  this  may  thee 
never  know  !  I  saw  she  repented  her  promise,  given  in  a 


mf  ■ 


ill     I 


Ij: 

•    ■     .1 

'\          ] 

\:i'        4 

\   i                  ^ 

mi-                       -t 

pi\     ^    'I 

1  ^            -  ^ 

!  H :          ^ 

'1  "1 1 

'-      ,:                    '           ^.   --'j 

;     ■         1       ■' 

hi 

■: , 

; 

!  i 

^ 


206 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


moment  of  impulsive  generosity,  and  I  resolved  that  t!mt 
promise  I  would  never  euU  upon  her  to  redeem. 

*' One  morning  she  made  her  appearance  ut  the  break- 
fast table  looking  pale,  wild  and  terrified.  We  all  thought 
she  was  ill,  but  she  said  she  wjis  not  ;  she  had  bad  dreams, 
she  said,  forcing  a  smile,  and  a  headache,  but  a  walk  in 
the  breezy  morning  air  would  cure  that. 

"  After  breakfast,  as  I  stood  leaning  against  a  tree, 
thinking  sadly  of  all  1  had  lost,  slie  came  up  to  me,  and, 
laving  her  hand  on  my  shoulder,  said  : 

"'Cousin  lteul)en,  I  have  seemed  cold  and  distant  to 
yuii  for  the  past  few  days,  and  I  fear  ]  have  otfended  you. 
Can  you  forgive  me  ?  ' 

''She  spoke  hurriedly,  and  with  a  certain  wildness  in 
lier  manner;  but  I  did  not  notice  it  then.  I  thought  sho 
was  about  to  be  my  own  Bertha  again,  and  how  rea<lily 
that  forgiveness  was  given  I  need  not  tell  thee.  Siio 
stooped  down  and  kissed  my  hand  while  I  sjioke,  and  ther., 
without  a  word,  started  olT  down  the  street  at  a  rapid  walk, 
from  which  she  never  came  back." 

Uncle  lleulen  paused,  and  his  hands  trembled  so  that 
for  a  moment  he  could  not  go  on  with  his  work.  Then, 
recovering  himself,  he  continued  : 

"  All  that  day  passed,  and  she  did  not  return,  and  when 
night  came  we  began  to  wonder  at  her  delay.  Still,  wo 
were  not  uneasy,  for  we  thought  she  had  stopped  all  night 
at  the  house  of  some  friend  ;  l3ut  the  next  day  passed,  and 
the  next,  and  nothing  more  was  heard  of  her.  Then  avg 
grew  alarmed,  and  I  was  about  to  rouse  the  neighborhood 
and  go  in  search  of  her  when  a  letter  was  brought  to  mo 
in  her  well-known  handwriting.  A  terrible  thought 
flashed  across  my  mind  at  the  sight.  I  sank  into  a  chair, 
tore  it  open  and  read  : 

*' '  CoL'Six  Reubex  :  I  have  gone — fled  from  von  all  for- 
ever.  Do  not  search  for  me,  for  it  will  be  useless.  I  can- 
not ask  you  to  forgive  me,  for  I  have  wronged  you  too 
deeply  for  that ;  but  do  not  curse  the  memory  of  the  un- 
worthy Bertha.' 

''Every  word  of  that  note  is  ineffaceably  burned  in  my 
heart  and  brain.  In  tluit  moment  my  whole  life  and 
destiny  ^vere  changed.     I  did  not  show  the  note  to  a  living 


TUE  MANIAC'S  STORY. 


207 


.V 


soul.  I  rose  up  aiul  toM  tliem  to  liiish  tluMi*  cliimor.'^,  :ni(l 
never  to  uioiitioii  licr  lumie  nioru.  I  think  my  l(>()ks  nuust 
liiivo  frightuued  tlioin,  I'or  tiiey  drew  buck  iu  silence,  and 
I  j>ut  on  my  Init,  and,  without  speaking  u  word,  walked 
out  of  the  house.  Tlie  moment  I  luul  read  the  words  my 
resolution  was  taken.  I  determined  to  go  forth  and  seek  for 
lier  till  she  was  found,  and  tell  her  with  my  own  lips  lliat 
I  forgave  her  all.  In  a  week  I  had  arranged  my  affairs. 
I  left  to  mv  second  brother  the  farm,  and,  without  telliui; 
])im  where  I  was  going  or  what  was  my  object,  I  left  home, 
and  I  never  saw  it  more. 

"I  went  to  Westport.  I  felt  sure  I  w<»uld  find  her 
there,  and  I  was  right.  Just  one  week  after  my  arrival, 
as  I  was  out  taking  a  stroll  through  the  town  one  night 
about  dusk,  a  wonum,  dressed  in  deep  black  and  (dosely 
veiled,  brushed  hastily  by  me.  I  started  as  if  I  had  re- 
ceived a  galvanic  shock  ;  for,  though  the  veil  hid  her  face, 
there  was  no  mistaking  tliat  tall,  regal  form  and  quick, 
proud  step.  I  knew  I  had  found  Bertha.  I  turned  and 
followed  her.  1  overtook  her  and,  laying  my  hand  on  her 
arm,  I  said  : 

''^Cousin  Bertha!' 

"At  the  sudden  sound  of  my  voice  she  started  and 
shrieked  aloud,  and  would  liavo  fallen  if  1  had  not  t^u\)- 
ported  lier.  Fortunately,  the  street  was  almost  deserted, 
and  no  one  noticed  us ;  and  I  drew  her  arm  within  mine 
and  said  : 

"  '  Fear  not,  Bertha ;  I  have  only  sought  thee  out  to 
tell  thee  I  forgive  thee  for  the  past.' 

"  '  And  you  can  forgive  me,  after  all  I  have  done  ; 
after  so  cruelly,  so  deeply  wronging  you  ?  Oh,  Cousin 
Eeuben  ! '  she  cried  out  passionately. 

"  '  Hush  !  thee  will  be  heard,'  I  said,  softly.  '  I  am 
thy  brother  now.  Bertha.  Where  does  thee  live  ?  I  will 
go  with  thee,  and,  if  thou  art  willing  to  tell  me,  I  will 
hear  thy  story.' 

^'  She  tried  to  speak,  but  something  seemed  to  choke 
her,  and  we  hurried  on  in  silence  until  we  reached  the 
hotel  where  she  stopped.  When  we  were  in  her  room  she 
sank  down  at  my  feet,  and,  holding  up  her  hands,  cried 
out  : 

*' '  Once  again — once  again  say  you  forgive  mo!  Oh, 
Cousin  Iieuben,  I  ca,nnot  believe  what  I  have  heard  ! ' 


^ 


208 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


lii' 


It, 


M  ■ 


**Shc  looked  so  Pi'ilc  and  haggard  tluit  1  felt  I  had  nioro 
to  pity  than  forgive.     1  raised  lier  up  jind  said  : 

*' '  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  Hertha.  Look  on  me  as  a 
brotlier,  and  while  I  live  1  will  ever  regard  thee  as  a  dear 
sister.' 

"AVliat  she  said  then,  and  how  wildly  .'.he  talked  and 
wept,  1  need  not  tell  tiiee  now.  1  waited  till  she  was 
calm,  but  it  was  long  before  she  was  composed  enough  to 
tell  nie  her  story,  and  then  I  learned  she  was  already  a 
wife,  though  no  one  knew  it  but  myself,  her  husband  and 
the  elergviium  who  united  them. 

*' I'hee  has  heard  of  Mark  Campbell,  the  late  owner  of 
the  Lodge — a  nnm  feared  by  all  and  loved  by  few  ?  It  was 
to  him  she  was  married,  llis  iirst  wife  had  been  dead 
some  years,  and  lie  resided  with  his  young  son  and 
daugliter  in  the  island.  He  had  met  liertha  during  her 
stay  in  Westport,  and  had  fallen  violently  in  love  with 
lier.  lie  was  a  tall,  stalwart,  haiulsome  man,  as  all  his 
race  ever  were,  and  she  returned  his  passion  with  all  the 
fierce  impetuosity  for  which  those  of  lier  nation  had  ever 
been  distinguished.  ])ut  he  was  proud,  very  proud,  and 
arrogant,  like  all  the  Campbells,  and  would  not  stoop  to 
publicly  marry  a  girl  so  far  beneath  him.  Thee  knows  I 
told  thee  she  was  on^y  a  sailor's  daughter,  and  an  un- 
known foreigner  beside.  He  gave  her  some  plausible 
reason — I  forget  what — and  urged  a  private  marriage. 
She  loved  hiui  and  Avas  easily  persuaded,  and,  though  un- 
known to  the  world,  was  ^lark  Campbell's  wife. 

*'  I  promised  Tiot  to  reveal  her  secret  ;  but  I  felt  that  a 
marriage  with  such  a  i)assionate,  vindictive  man  as  he  was 
could  be  productive  of  only  misery  and  sorrow  to  her. 
She  had  no  friend  in  the  world  but  me,  and  I  resolved  ^o 
remain  in  AVesti)ort  and  watch  over  her  safety. 

"  So  nearly  two  years  passed.  Bertha  dwelt  sometimes 
in  Westport  and  sometimes  in  the  island.  Campbell's 
Lodge,  thee  knows,  is  a  large  house,  full  of  rooms  and 
passages,  and  she  could  easily  remain  there  for  weeks  at  a 
time  without  being  discovered.  Mark  Campbell  had  a 
schooner,  and  kept  five  or  six  rough-looking  sailor  fellows, 
half  smugglers  and  whole  villains,  constantly  about  him. 
I  managed  to  obtain  employment  about  the  place,  and 
was  thus  enabled  to  remain  on  the  island  and,  unsuspected, 
watch  over  Bertha. 


THE  MANIAC'S  STORY. 


209 


a 

as. 
;r. 
ho 

|e3 

"s 

Id 

a 

a 

|s, 


"  Bertha,  when  in  the  island,  always  lived  in  some  of 
the  upper  rooms,  where  the  children  and  servants  never 
came.  One  day,  when  she  was  in  Westport.  I  clianccd 
to  have  some  errand  to  those  apartments,  and.  entorini?  a 
little  dark  closet  otT  one  of  the  large  rooms,  I  knelt  down 
to  grope  for  something  on  the  floor,  when  my  hand  pressed 
heavily  on  something  which  I  kn';rt'  now  to  he  a  spring  ; 
a  trap-door  fell,  and  I  came  vory  near  l)eing  precipitated 
down  twelve  feet  to  one  of  the  rooms  below — a  large, 
empty  apartment,  filled  with  old  lumbei*. 

"  When  I  recovered  from  my  astonishment  at  this  un- 
expected occurrence,  I  examined  the  trap,  and  found  it 
could  be  opened  from  below,  and  that,  owing  to  the  dark- 
ness of  the  closet,  when  shut  it  could  never  l^e  discovered. 
1  was  at  no  loss  to  siccount  for  its  object,  as  it  had  evi- 
dently been  con^^tructed  by  some  former  occupjint  for  no 
good  purpose.  I  felt  convinced,  however,  that  the  ])res- 
ent  proprietor  knew  nothing  of  it,  or  long  ere  this  it 
would  have  been  made  use  of.  and  I  resolved  to  say  noth- 
ing about  it,  not  knowing  for  what  evil  end  he  might  use  it. 

"  1  was  right  when  I  felt  that  this  hasty  nuirriage  be- 
tween Bertha  and  ^lark  C'ampbell  couhl  be  productive  of 
nothing  but  misery.  Already  ho  was  wearying  of  her, 
but  that  did  not  prevent  him  from  being  madly  joalons. 
A  stranger,  a  mere  youth,  ami  the  handsomest  1  ever  saw, 
had  met  l^ertha  somewhere,  and  was  deeply  struck  by  her 
beauty.  He  was  a  gay,  thoughtless  lad,  and  Mark  Camp- 
bell, overhearing  some  speeches  he  had  made  about  her, 
had  all  the  fierce  jealousy  of  his  nature  aroused.  He  set 
spies  to  watch  Bertha  ;  her  every  word  and  look  were  dis- 
torted, after  the  fashion  of  jealous  ]ieople,  into  a  confir- 
mation of  her  guilt,  and  poor  Bertha  led  a  wretched  life  of 
it.  Her  only  comfort  now  was  her  little  daughter,  of 
whom  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  thee  oefore. 

"  One  night  one  of  his  spies  came  to  the  island  and 
sought  an  interview  with  ^[ark  Campbell.  What  its 
purport  was  I  know  not  ;  but  when  it  was  ended  his  face 
was  livid — absolutely  diabolical  with  passion.  '^I'wo  of  his 
villainous  crew  were  despatched  in  a  boat  to  West])ort, 
and  when  they  returned  they  brought  with  them  this 
youth,  gagged  and  bound  hand  and  foot.  Bertha  was  at 
the  time  dwelling  in  the  Lodge,  for  Campbell  was  too 
madly  jealous  to  suffer  her  to  go  out  of  his  sight. 


^I 


210 


THE  QUEKN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


jii 


ii:f 


la^ 


4111 


'i  i 
i;  \ 
J 


"Iliatl.'i  i)i08onLimuiit  thut  s()mctliiii<;  terrible  would 
occur  tliiiL  i»i;,'hl,  but  1  never  dreanied  ol'  tlie  uwrul 
murder  tliiit  was  })eri)('trjited  in  oiiu  of  (he  up]>er  rooni.s. 
It  was  a  Htoriny,  tempestuous  niglit,  but  tlie  men  were 
sent  oil' a^'ain  to  a  ilLlJe  vilhi'i^o  Kome  miles  below  New- 
port ;  and  wlien  tliey  (!anio  l»ack  they  had  wlLJi  them  an- 
other man,  ga/^^god  and  bound  like  tlie  first. 

"1  could  not  rest  that  idght,  but  sat  anxiously  in  my 
room  in  the  basenutiiL  story,  longing  with  a  strange  dread 
for  the  morning,  i  felt  sure  evil  was  meditated,  and  as  I 
listened  J  suilclenly  heard  one  wild,  territie  shriek  from 
some  one  I  knew  must  be  Bertha.  Hall'  mad  with  terror, 
I  lied  from  the  room  and  stole  into  the  lower  hall  to  listen, 
but  all  was  perfectly  still.  For  u})ward  of  half  an  hour  I 
remained  thus,  but  nothing  broke  the  deep  stillness  until 
heavy  footsteps  began  to  descend  the  stairs,  and  1  saw  the 
two  worst  of  Campbell's  gang  coming  down,  and  leading 
between  them  the  man  they  had  last  brought  to  the  isle. 
They  placed  him  in  a  boat  and  rowed  away,  and  I  returned 
to  the  house,  still  ignorant  of  what  had  taken  phu^e.  As 
I  approached  it  I  saw  two  other  of  the  crew,  talking  in 
low,  hushed  voices  as  they  descended  to  the  shore.  I 
stole  behind  them  to  listen,  and  judge  of  my  horror  when 
I  learned  that,  in  his  frantic  jealousy.  Campbell  had 
murdered  this  stranger  youth,  and,  in  his  infermd  bar- 
barity, had  cast  his  loving  wife  and  the  body  of  her  sup- 
])osed  lover  into  a  room  together — consigning  her  to  a  death 
too  fearful  to  contemplate.  The  man  Avho  had  just  been 
taken  away  Avas  a  mason,  who  had  been  procured  to  wall 
up  the  only  door  to  the  room. 

*' I  listened,  my  very  life-blood  freezing  with  horror ; 
b  it  judge  of  my  feelings  when,  from  their  descri})tion  of 
the  room,  I  knew  it  to  be  the  one  with  the  hidden  door. 
In  that  instant  everything  was  forgotten  but  the  one 
thought  of  freeing  her  who  was  dearer  still  to  me  than 
life.  I  was  more  like  a  frantic  man  than  one  sane.  I 
procured  a  ladder,  made  my  way  noiselessly  to  the  de- 
serted lumber  room,  ascended  it  and  carefully  let  fall  the 
trap.  The  lifeless  form  of  the  murdered  man  lay  across 
the  opening,  but  I  pushed  it  aside  and  sprang  into  the 
room,  thinking  only  of  Bertha.  In  the  farthest  corner, 
crouching  down  to  the  floor,  she  sat,  a  gibbering  idiot. 
The  terrible  shock  had  driven  her  insane. 


! 


THE  MAXTAC'S  STOIIY. 


211 


*    i 


**  What  I  felt  at  tliat  dreadful  si;^dit  no  word:^  can  ever 
tell.  I  raised  lior  in  my  anna  and  horo  he,  unrcsistiiijr, 
down  into  llic  lumber  room,  I  closed  tiie  trap,  eonecaled 
the  ladder,  and,  carrvinj,^  her  as  if  she  were  fin  infant.  I 
iled  from  the  accursi  .l  si)ot.  ISlio  neither  spoke  nor 
uttered  a  sin;j,Io  cry,  but  lay  i)assively  in  niy  arms.  Tiierc 
were  boats  on  the  shore.  I  placed  lier  in  (Uie,  and,  with 
a  strenL;"lh  that  seeme(l  almo.^t  superlninnin,  rowed  over 
tlie  heavin'.:;  waves  till  monnn^'.  Whither  I  was  ^oin:^'  I 
knew  not,  neither  did  1  care  ;  my  only  object  was  to  i)ear 
her  bevond  the  reach  of  her  deadly  enemv.  When  morn- 
in^^  canu'  I  found  myself  on  the  shore  below  this  ])lace. 
I  Inid  often  })een  here  and  admired 'this  quiet  and  hidden 
spot,  buri(Ml  in  the  depths  of  tiie  wood.  Hither  I  bore 
Bertha,  who  followed  me  like  a  child  ;  and  before  noon  I 
had  constructed  a  sort  of  rude  hut  to  screen  her  from  the 
heat  of  the  sun  and  the  ni'dit  dew.  "^^I'lien  I  went  to 
Xewport  for  such  necessaries  as  I  immediately  required, 
and  resolved  thatliere  I  would  spend  my  life,  in  watching* 
over  my  poor,  insane  cousin. 

"  It  would  be  dull,  tedious  and  uninteresting  to  relate 
how  I  labored  for  the  next  few  weeks  to  construct  this 
hut,  and  form,  as  best  I  could,  the  rude  furniture  you 
see  here.  It  was  a  labor  of  love,  and  I  heeded  not  fa- 
tigue nor  want  of  rest  until  it  was  completed.  No  child 
in  the  arms  of  its  nurse  could  be  more  quiet  and  docile 
than  Bertha,  but  I  saw  that  reason  had  fled  forever.  I 
fancied  she  would  always  remain  thus  still  and  gentle,  and 
never  dreamed  she  could  be  attacked!  bv  paroxysms  of 
violence  like  other  lunatics,  until  one  night  I  was  startled 
to  find  her  raving  mad,  flying  through  the  house  and 
shrieking  murder.  All  the  events  of  that  terrible  night 
seemed  to  conu^  back  to  her,  and  she  fled  from  the  house 
before  I  could  detain  her,  sprang  into  the  boat  and  put 
off  for  the  island.  She  knew  how  to  manage  a  boat,  and 
before  I  could  reach  Newport  and  procure  another  she  had 
reached  the  island,  entered  Campbell's  Lodge,  still  making 
the  air  resound  with  her  shrill  shrieks  of  murder.  For- 
tunately, in  the  dark  she  was  not  perceived,  and  I  managed, 
to  seize  her  and  bear  her  off  to  the  boat  before  any  one 
else  beheld  her. 

"  A  fortnight  after,  when  I  visited  Xewport.   I  learned 
that  Mark  Campbell  was  dead,  and  I  knew  tl.at  ho  must 


Tl 


rj  1^ 


f , , 


I'  I 


212 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  I3LE. 


:i 


*; 


11 


have  heard  her   cries,  and,  supposing  them   to  be  snper- 
natural,  the  shock  had  hastened  liis  death. 

"  Of  Bertha's  chihl  I  coukl  discover  nothing.  How  he 
disposed  of  it  is  nnlcnown  to  me  to  this  hour. 

"  Ahd  so  liertha  and  I  have  lived  here  for  fourteen 
years  unmolested,  and  our  very  existence  is,  doubtless, 
long  since  forgotten.  She  is,  as  you  see  her,  gentle  and 
harmless  ;  but  she  still  has  those  periodical  attacks  of 
violence,  but  in  a  lesser  degree  than  at  lirst.  At  such 
times,  by  some  strange  instinct  or  glimmering  of  reason, 
she  always  seeks  the  isle,  enters  Campbell's  Lodge  and 
goes  wandering  tlirough  the  rooms,  as  if  vacantly  trying 
to  remember  something  that  is  past.  These  nocturnal  vis- 
its have  given  the  Lodge  the  reputation  of  being  haunted, 
which  her  appearance  at  different  times  upon  the  island 
has  confirmed.  As  the  house  was  for  several  years-  de- 
serted, except  by  some  old  servants,  after  the  death  of 
Mark  Campbell,  she  could  roam  with  impunity  through 
the  rooms — sometimes  even  pushing  back  bolts  and  enter- 
ing apartments  that  were  locked.  Such,  Christie,  is  the 
story  of  the  maniac  Bertha." 

All  this  time  Christie  had  been  listening  with  a  look  of 
the  deepest,  most  absorbed  attention,  in  silent  amazement 
at  all  she  heard.  The  mystery  of  the  haunted  house  a>'d 
the  sjiirit  of  the  isle  was  cleared  up   at  ^  .st. 

**  And  the  child — did  you  never  hear  anything  more  of 
it  ?"  inquired  Ciiristie. 

**  Nothing  concerning  it  have  I  ever  heard." 

"  Thon  it  may  still  be  alive." 

"It  is  very  probable  ;  villain  as  he  was,  he  would  not 
slay  his  own  child.  But  enough  of  this  ;  it  is  wearing 
late,  and  thee  looks  tired,  Christie.  Good  night,  my 
daughter." 

Christie  sough'  her  couch  to  wonder  and  dream  over 
what  she  had  heard,  and  forget  for  the  time  her  own  griefs 
in  thinking  of  the  greater  ones  of  poor  l^ertha.  How 
similar,  too,  seemed  their  fates  !  The  sufferings  of  both 
had  originated  in  those  fatal  secr^it  marriages.  Bertha's 
were  over,  but  Christie's  were  not ;  and,  wondering  how 
hers  were  to  end,  Christie  fell  asleep. 

And  thus  days  and  weeks  and  months  glided  by  in  the 
little,  lonely  forest  cot.  The  long,  dreary  winter  passed, 
and  spring  was  again  robing  the  trees  in  green,  while  the 


REMORSE. 


213 


inmates  of  the  cottage  knew  nothing  of  the  events  pass- 
ing in  the  great  world  more  than  if  tliey  no  longer  dwelt 
in  it — dreamed  not  of  the  startling  denonemcnt  to  the 
tragedy  of  the  isle  that  was  even  then  hastening  to  a  close, 
until  their  peace  was  hroken  hy  an  nnexpeeted  occurrence 
that  roused  Christie  into  electric  life  once  more. 

I>ut  for  the  present  we  must  leave  her  and  return  to  the 
other  scenes  and  characters  of  our  story. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


REMORSE. 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  father,  can  the  dead 

Walk  on  the  earth  and  look  on  us, 
And  lay  upon  the  livint?"s  liead 

Their  hlessinj?  or  their  curse  ? 
She  comes  to  me  each  nifrht — 

The  dried  leaves  do  not  feel  her  tread  ; 
She  stands  by  me,  in  the  deep  midnight, 

In  the  white  robes  of  the  dead." 


— Whittier. 


And  now  we  must  return  to  the  day  following  that 
night  of  storm  and  crime  on  the  shore  of  Campbell's  Isle. 

When  Etlgar  awoke  to  consciousness  once  more,  he 
found  himself  lying  on  a  lounge,  with  some  one  eluding 
lAs  hands  and  temples.  Unable  for  a  moment  to  realize 
what  had  happened,  he  started  up,  and  gazed  wildly 
around.  The  lirst  object  on  which  his  eyes  rested  was 
the  pale,  anxious  face  of  his  wife,  as  she  bent  over  him. 

That  sight  brought  back  all.  AVith  a  hollow,  unearthly 
groan,  he  fell  back,  exclaiming  : 

"  Heaven  and  earth  !  has  the  grave  given  up  its  dead  ? 
Or  am  I  dead,  with  my  victim  confronting  me  in  another 
world  ?  " 

But  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Laura  uttered  a  joyful 
cry,  and  falling  on  her  knees  beside  him,  clasped  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  crying  out  : 

"  Oh,  f^dgar  !  dearest  Edgar  !  thank  Cod  you  are  still 
alive.  Oh,  Edgar,  I  was  made  reckless  ;  only  forgive  mo 
for  the  miserable  past,  and  as  heaven  hears  me,  1  will 
never — never  make  you  so  wretched  more." 

Her  tone,  her  look,  her  clasp,  convinced  him  she  was 


tl 


X. 


m ! 


m 


H 


il  i  i 
III     ' 


214 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


really  alive.  With  liis  brain  burning  and  throbbing  as 
though  he  were  going  mad,  he  started  up,  and  grasped 
her  by  the  arm,  while  lie  fairly  shrieked  : 

'*  Woman  I  do  1  speak  to  the  living  or  the  dead  ?  Did  I 
not  murder  you  ?  " 

"  Dearest  Edgar,  no  !  The  fall  scarcely  hurt  me  at  all. 
It  was  all  my  own  fault  ;  do  not  think  of  it  any  more,  and 
do  not  speak,  or  look  so  crazed  and  excited.  Do  you  not 
see  I  am  alive  and  well  ? "' 

Yes,  he  saw  it.  She  wliom  he  siipi)osed  was  buried 
forever  in  tlie  heaving  sea,  was  bending  over  him,  holding 
his  frenzied  head  on  her  breast-— })usliing  back  the  wild, 
black  hair  soothingly  off  his  burning  brow.  Was  he  sane 
or  mad  ?  Were  all  the  events  of  the  previous  night  only 
the  liorrible  delusion  of  a  dream  ?  the  vivid  deception  of 
a  nightmare  ?  Was  the  storm,  the  murder,  all  a  mock- 
ing unreality  ?  He  looked  down,  and  saw  on  his  cloak  a 
dark,  clotted  mark,  the  maddening  evidence  of  the  past, 
and  knew  that  it  was  not  a  dream.  His  wife  was  living 
still.  Who  then  had  fallen  by  his  hand  ?  In  the  storm 
and  darkness,  what  horrible  mistake  had  he  made  ?  He 
ground  his  teeth  and  clenched  his  hands  together  to  keep 
back  the  terrific  emotions  that  made  his  very  brain  reel, 
feeling  as  ihough  hell  itself,  in  that  moment,  could  not 
have  greater  tortures  than  he  endured. 

Dreaming  not  of  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  lianra 
still  bent  over,  caressing  him,  and  striving  to  soothe  liim 
back  to  calmness,  bitterly  accusing  herself  for  her  he;irt- 
less  conduct,  that  had  driven  him  to  such  a  depth  of 
misery  and  despair. 

"  Oh,  Edgar  I  my  dearest  husband  !  only  say  you  for- 
give me  for  the  i)ast  I  I  have  done  very  wrong,  but  I 
never  meant  to  torture  you  thus.  Oh,  indeed,  I  never — 
never  meant  it  I  I  will  do  anything,  be  anything,  go  any- 
where you  wish  for  the  future.  Dearest  Edgar,  will  you 
not  say  you  pardon  me  ?  " 

''  Leave  me — leave  nie  !  "  groaned  the  unhappy  man, 
avertin.f'"  his  hciul,  and  shadino-  his  eves  with  his  hands. 

*"'  But  say  you  forgive  me  first,  Edgiir  !  Oh  I  if  you 
knew  what  a  miserabk-!  night  I  luive  passed,  you  would 
think  I  had  atoned  sufficiently  for  what  I  have  done." 

"  You — you — where  were  you  last  night  ?  "  he  cried, 
with  sudden  wildness,  starting  up. 


REMORSE. 


215 


•t    » 


**  1  was  here,  of  course.  For  heaven's  sake  Edgar,  do 
not  excite  '  onrself  so,''  slie  said,  startled  and  ahirmed. 

*'  Were  30U  here  all  night  ?  " 

*^  Certainly,  Edgar.  It' I  had  boon  inclined  to  go  out, 
I  was  not  able;  and  if  able  and  inclined,  1  could  ot  liavo 
done  so  in  such  a  storm.  Do  compose  yourself,  Mr. 
Courtney." 

"  Y^ou  are  sure  you  were  here  all  night  ?  " 

'*  Most  certainly  I  was.  Why  will  you  persist  in  asking 
me  such  a  quesriGii?*'  she  said,  in  extreme  surprise. 
Again  he  fell  back  with  a  shudderiup-  g'*oan.  *'  Dear 
Edgar,  you  are  very  ill.  I  must  send  lor  a  physician," 
sjiid  Laura,  in  great  alarm,  thinking  his  violent  jealousy 
had  unsettled  his  brain. 

"  Xo — no  I  on  your  peril,  no  !  "  he  vehemently  ex- 
claimed. "  Leave  me  !  all  I  want,  all  I  ask  for,  is  to  be 
alone  !  " 

*'  But  you  Viave  not  yet  forgiven  me.  Will  you  not  do 
so  before  I  go  ? '' 

*<  Yes — yes,  anything  ;  only  leave  me.'' 

Sighing  deeply,  Mrs.  Courtney  arose,  and,  pressing  a 
kiss  on  his  brow,  left  the  room. 

And  he  was  alone — alone  with  his  own  frenzied,  tumult- 
ous  thoughts — alone  with  his  own  conscience,  the  most  ter- 
rific companion  a  guilty  man  can  have.  Again  came  the 
torturiiig  thought.  What,  oh,  what  had  he  done  ?  Whom, 
in  his  mad  passion,  had  he  slain  ?  While  reason  and  judg- 
ment slept,  and  jealousy  and  blind  frenzy  raged,  what 
wrong  had  he  committed  ? 

But  his  wife  lived.  AVitli  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling, 
in  all  the  tempest  of  agony  and  remorse,  that  conviction 
was  the  one  gleam  of  blessed  sunlight  in  the  dark  night  of 
despair.  Come  what  miglit,  she  who  had  given  up  all 
for  him,  had  not  fallen  by  his  hand  ;  her  death  was  not  on 
his  soul.  And  he  drew  a  deep  respiration  of  relief  ;  and, 
if  he  had  dared  so  to  breathe  the  holv  name,  would  have 
thanked  God  for  her  preservation. 

How  strongly  amid  the  wildest  chaos  of  doubt  and  an- 
guish does  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  ever  remain  in 
the  ascendant !  All  other  thoughts  quickly  passed  away, 
and  the  one  absorbing  idea  of  securing  his  own  safety 
filled  his  whole  breast.  He  thought,  with  a  start  of  alarm, 
what  conjectures  his  strange  questions  and  wild  excite- 


1 

1/ 


I 

1'' 


216 


THE  QU>y£X  OF  THE  ISLE. 


'II 


!f ; 


ment  must  have  f;iven  rise  to  in  the  mind  of  his  wife,  and 
resolved  that,  for  the  future,  come  wh^t  miglit,  he  would 
be  on  his  guard,  and  not  commit  himself  by  betraying  his 
emotions. 

"  I  must  leave  this  place  immediately,"  was  liis  thought, 
*'  before  suspicion  will  have  time  to  fix  on  me,  and  trust 
to  time  and  absence  for  secUi'ity.  But  first  I  must  find 
some  clue  to  this  horrible  mystery.  Oh,  that  dreadful 
night !  Would  to  God  it  could  be  forever  blotted  from 
my  memory  ! " 

Eycu  while  he  spoke,  an  unusual  bustle  below  met  Irs 
ear.  He  heard  voices  speaking  in  quick,  excited  tones  ; 
then  a  scream,  and  then  the  sound  of  many  feet  hurrying 
to  and  fro.  With  the  one  idea,  the  one  dread  thouglit  of  his 
guilt  being  discovered  ever  uppermost  in  his  mind,  he  listen- 
ed in  an  agony  of  impatience  for  what  might  follow.  Still 
the  bustle  and  excitement  continued,  and,  wrought  up  to 
a  fever  of  anxiety,  he  was  about  to  rise  and  go  inq  lest  of 
information,  wlien  the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  Laura 
— })ale,  trembling  and  horror-stricken — stood  before 
him. 

"  Li  the  name  of  heaven,  what  is  the  matter,  Laura  ?  " 
he  asked,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  agitation. 

'^  Oh,  Edgar  !  you  have  not  heard  the  dreadful  news," 
she  said,  trembling. 

"  What  dreadful  news  ?  Speak  and  tell  me  instantly  ! " 
he  said,  grasping  her  arm  and  setting  his  teeth  hard. 

"  You  remember  that  lovely  little  island  girl,  Christie  ?  " 

''Yes;  what    of   her?''   he   said,    turning  frightfully 

pale. 

''In  the  fearful  storm  of  last  night,  she  was  most  foully 
murdered.     Poor,  gentle,  little  Christie!" 

He  knew  all  now  ;  he  remembered  her  resemblance  to 
his  wife  ;  that  had  deceived  him.  She,  then,  had  been 
his  victim.  In  spite  of  all  his  resolve  to  be  calm,  he  was 
forced  to  trra^p  a  cliair  to  steady  himself.  lUit  in  her 
sorrow  and  horror,  his  wife  did  not  perceive  his  increas- 
ing agitation. 

"Dear,  beautiful  Christie!  so  fair— so  young— so 
gentle,  to  meet  so  terrible  a  fate  !  Oh,  Edgar  !  what  a 
demon  her  assassin  must  have  been,  worse  than  a  demon, 
for  even  thev  would  not  have  committed  such  a  deed. 
Poor  little  child  !   .,liat  an  awful  doom  was  hers  I  " 


REMORSE. 


217 


He  had  recovered  his  outward  calmness  by  this  time 
and,  steadyiiii^  liis  trembling  voice,  he  asked  : 

*'  Who  could  have  done  the  deed  ?  " 

'*No  one  knows.  Mrs.  Tom  and  Sybil  Campbell  have 
only  just  arrived  ;  and  all  they  can  tell  al)out  it  is  that, 
owing  to  some  unknown  cause,  she  eitlier  left  or  was 
borne  from  the  house  during  the  night,  aiul  part  of  her 
clothing  was  found  this  morning,  covered  with  blood. 
The  body  could  not  be  found  and  it  is  supposed  'twas 
carried  away  by  the  waves.  Oh,  it  is  horrible  !  What 
crime  would  not  men  be  guilty  of,  since  they  could  even 
murder  that  gentle  giH  !  The  proper  autiiorilies  are  about 
to  be  ap])rized  of  the  fact,  and  the  island  is  to  he  searched 
to  see  if  any  clue  to  the  discovery  of  the  murderer  can  be 
found." 

*' What  is  supposed  to  be  the  cause  of  the  murder  ?" 

*' Oh,  there  is  no  cause  assigned  ;  everything  is  wrapped 
in  the  deepest  mystery,  but  1  have  an  idea  of  my  own. 
You  know  poor  Christie  was  exceedingly  beautiful,  aiul 
some  one  nuiy  have  become  eiuimored  of  her,  and  attempted 
to  carry  her  oil — thinking  the  night  and  storm  favorable 
to  his  purpose.  Most  probably  she  resisted  ;  and,  fail- 
ing in  his  })urpose — in  a  fit  of  passion — he  may  have  slain 
her,  and  fled  to  escape  the  consequence  of  the  act." 

"Most  probably  that  is  it,"  said  Courtney,  wishing 
fervently  that  every  one  else  would  adopt  his  wife's 
opinion. 

"But,  oh!  it  is  terrible!"  exclaimed  Laura;  ''poor 
little  Christie  !  And  her  aunt  is  almost  deranged.  Oh  I 
to  think  we  should  all  luive  been  safe  here,  tliinking  only 
of  our  own  petty  troubles,  while  she  was  lying,  w^onnded 
and  dying,  ex[)osed  to  the  fury  of  the  winds  and  waves. 
i  do  not  know  how  it  is  ;  but  there  is  a  feeling  of  remorse 
in  my  heart,  as  if  I  were  in  some  way  accountable  for 
this  crime." 

"  You,  Laura  !     What  nonsense  I  " 

"Yes,  I  know  :  but  still  it  is  there." 

"  An  over-excited  brain,  that  is  all.    Who  is  down-stairs. 


now 


V  " 


"  Sybil  Campbell  ami  Mrs.  Brantwell.  Mrs.  Tom  and 
Mr.  Brantwell  have  gone  to  the  mngistrate's." 

"  I  think  you  said  Sybil  Campbell  came  with  Mrs.  Tom, 
Was  she  on  the  island  last  night  ?  " 


I, 


IVi     i   i 


■i!i^ 


Hi: 


^f 


I  y 


•:  3 


n 


^  ■  ■       u 

\ILji 

218 


THE  QUEEN"  OF  THE  ISLE. 


*'  Yes  ;  she  went  there  about  dark." 

"  What  !  in  all  that  storm  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so." 

**  What  could  have  taken  her  there  ?  "  asked  Courtney, 
who  scarcely  knew  what  his  own  object  was  in  asking 
these  questions,  except  it  was  to  keep  his  mind  from 
dwellintjj  on  what  he  had  doiie. 

"1  do  not  know.  Oh,  yes  !  now  I  recollect  ;  it  was  a 
note  brought  her  by  her  brother  ;  and,  strangely  enough, 
from  Christie  herself.  Slie  seemed  very  much  agitated 
upon  receiving  it  ;  and  insisted  on  going  immediately  to 
the  isle,  in  spite  of  the  storm." 

Courtney  gave  a  sudden  start,  a  strange  light  leaped 
into  his  eyes  ;  his  white  face  flushed,  and  then  became 
paler  than  before,  as  he  said. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  note  contained  ?  " 

'^  No  ;  how  should  1  ?  " 

*'  Did  Miss  Campbell  meet  Christie  last  night,  before 
the  murder  ?  " 

*'  No ;  I  heard  her  telling  Mvs.  Brantwell  that  the 
storm  came  on  so  violently  that  she  was  scarcely  able  to 
reach  the  Lodge,  much  less  the  cottage." 

"  Are  you  aware  whether  those  two  girls  were  on  good 
terms  ?  " 

''  Why,  what  a  question  !  What  do  you  mean, 
Edgar?" 

*'  Nothing  ;  answer  my  question." 

"  Whv,  I  reallv  do  not  know  ;  but  I  fancy  not." 

'^Ah!     Why?" 

**  Well,  of  course,  I  may  be  mistaken  ;  but  I  think 
Sybil  was  jealous  of  poor  Cliristie  at  one  time.  AVillard 
Drummond  certainly  paid  her  a  great  deal  more  atter.tion 
than  he  should  have  done,  considering  he  was  betrothed 
to  Sybil.     But,  then,  he  was  always  fickle." 

"  And  Sybil  Avas  jealous  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  I  am  quite  sure  she  was." 

*'  And,  consequently,  this  island  girl's  enemy  ?  " 

*'  Well,  I  cannot  say  as  to  that.  What  on  earth  do  you 
mean,  Edgar  ?  " 

"  Who  first  discovered  the  murder  ?  " 

"Svbil." 

*'  Ah  !  she  did  !  And  I  presume  she  immediately  went 
and  told  Mrs.  Tom?" 


REMORSE. 


219 


''No  ;  T  hoard  her  telling  Mrs.  Brantwell  that  she 
found  it  out,  somehow — I  forget  how — soinewhero  about 
niidnififlit ;    but    she    did     not    inform     Mrs.     Tom     till 


>5 


niornnig. 

''  Wliy  was  that  ?  " 

^' I  don't  know.  Really,  Mr.  Courtney,  "'  I  wa,s  on 
trial  as  a  witness,  you  could  not  cross-examine  me  more 
strictly,"  said  Mrs.  Courtney,  beginning  to  lose  patience. 

*' I  wisli  to  know  all  the  particulars,  Laura.  Did  you 
liear  anything  else  ?  " 

*'  No — yes  !  I  heard  Mrs.  Tom  telling  Mr.  Brantwell 
that  about  the  time  they  suppose  the  i\i^.QA\  was  committed 
Carl  Ilenlcy  saw  a  woman  Hying  tlirough  the  island  ; 
but  that  no  one   credits." 

**  A  woman,  did  you  say  ?"  And  the  strange  light  in 
Courtney's  eves  grew  almost  insufl'erable. 

"  Yes;  but  I  suppose  he  dreamed  it,  or  wished  to  add 
to  his  own  importance  by  a  feigned  story." 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Courtney,  who  had  good 
reasons  for  the  belief.  '^Perhaps  this  tangled  web  may 
yet  be  unraveled.^* 

**  Edgar,  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  !  what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

*'  Hush  !  I  mean  nothing — never  mind  now.  ]^erhaps 
my  suspicions  are  premature." 

"  Good  heavens.  Edgar  I  you  surely  do  not  suspect " 

"  Hush  !  "  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper  ;  '*  I  suspect  no 
one.  Be  silent  concerning  what  has  passed.  Leave  me 
now,  I  wish  to  lie  down.  When  those  people  return  from 
searching  the  island,  come  and  let  me  know  the  result. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  disturbed  before." 

Wondering  what  ])0S3ible  meaning  could  be  couched 
beneath  his  mysterious  words,  Mrs.  Courtney  left  the 
room.  And  Edirar  Courtney  sat  down,  and  with  knitted 
bi'ows  aiul  compressed  lips  ^^^  i^to  deep  thought.  NTow 
and  then  his  white  face  would  blanch  to  a  moi-o  ghastly 
hue  still,  and  the  muscles  would  twitch  convulsively  ;  and, 
again,  an  expression  of  demoniacal  joy  and  triumph 
wouid  light  up  his  countenance,  to  be  clouded  a  moment 
after  by  doubt  and  fjar,  while  his  customary  midnight 
scowl  grew  darker  and  darker.  At  last,  a  look  of  des- 
perate resolution  usurped  every  other  expression,  and  he 
hissed  through  his  clenched  teeth  : 


I'h 


w^ 


N' 


ll 

I'  > 


s  ■ 


;i      (    i 


i . 


I    V;: 


II' 

1 1 


220 


THE  QUEEN   OF  THE  ISLE. 


*' I  will  do  it!  I  will  do  it!  Anything,  even  thi«, 
sooner  tlum  the  fate  thut  nia}^  be  mine.  It  can  easily  be 
proved.  A  slighter  chain  of  circunistantiiil  evidence  has 
been  found,  before  now,  strong  enough  to  hang " 

He  paused  suddenly,  aiul  cast  a  terrified  glance  around, 
as  if  fearful  the  very  walls  might  hear  his  diabolical  plot. 
Or,  perhaps,  the  word  suggested  what  might  one  day  be 
his  own  destiny. 

He  arose  and  paced  excitedly  up  and  down  the  room, 
so  deeply  absorbed  in  thought  that  he  heeded  not  the  flight 
of  time,  until  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door  and  the 
entrance  of  his  wife  startled  him  from  his  reverie. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  seating  himself,  and  trying  to  hide  his 
anxiety  under  a  show  of  composure. 

"  Oh,  they  have  searched  every  corner  of  the  island  so 
carefully  that  if  a  pin  had  been  lost  it  must  have  been 
found  ;  but  it  is  all  in  vain.  They  cannot  obtain  the 
slightest  clue  to  the  discovery  of  the  murderer  or  his 
victim.  All  that  has  been  found  is  a  knife,  deeply  stained 
with  blood,  which  places  the  fact  that  she  has  been  mur- 
dered, beyond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt.  The  murderer, 
In  his  flight,  probably  drop})ed  it  unawares,"  said  Laura. 

Courtney  started  in  alarm  at  the  news  ;  but  a  moment's 
reflection  convinced  him  that — as  the  weapon  bore  neither 
name  nor  initials,  and  had  never  been  seen  with  him — 
there  was  nothing  to  be  feared  from  the  discovery. 

'•'And  what  do  thev  mean  to  do  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

*'I  do  not  know — give  up  the  search,  I  suppose,  since 
it  seems  utterly  useless  to  continue  it.  Poor,  ill-fated 
little  Christie  !" 

**  Has  Mrs.  Tom  returned  to  the  island  ?" 

<(  Yes." 

"Ami  Miss  Campbell?" 

"  She  is  here,  where  she  intends  remaining.' 

*'  How  does  she  bear  this  news  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  seems  terribly  excited,  I  must  say  ;  and  I  da 
not  wonder  at  it.  Slie  insisted  on  going  with  them  to  the 
island,  and  aiding  in  the  search  ;  and  has  been  walking 
up  and  down  the  room,  like  one  half  crazy,  since  their 
return." 

('  Very  singular  agitation  to  be  produced  by  the  death 
of  a  girl  she  did  not  like,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Courtney,  in  a 
peculiar  tone. 


REMORSE. 


231 


•*    »-i 


;ir 


I  will  go  to 


**  Why,  Edgar  !  who  could  lielp  boing  agitated  at  so 
dreadful  a  deed  ?     Every  one  is  horror-stricken." 

"  You  are  not  thus  agitated,  Laura  I*' 

'"Well,  I  feel  it  none  the  less  deeply  on  that  account ; 
but  Miss  Campbell  and  I  are  ditTerent  ;  and  l)esides,  she 
has  known  her  mnch  longer  than  1  have.  IJut  it  is  almost 
dark,  Edgar,  and  you  have  had  no  dinner.  Are  you  suf- 
ficiently recovered  to  come  down  to  tea  ? '' 

*'  I  think    not  ;  1   do    not  care  for   any. 
bed." 

"  Let  me  bring  you  up  some  tea  and  toast  first,"  said 
Laura.     "  You  have  eaten  nothing  all  day." 

She  left  the  room,  and  soon  reappeared  with  the  tea 
tray.  And  Courtney,  to  satisfy  his  wife — having  partaken 
of  a  light  supper — retired  to  bed,  wearied  after  the  ex- 
citement of  the  dav. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  but  not  in  sleep.  Hour  after  hour 
passed  on,  while  he  lay  tossing  restlessly,  striving  to 
banish  from  his  mind  the  tragedy  of  the  previous  night. 
All  in  vain  !  sleep  would  not  come  at  his  call.  Again  he 
beheld  the  still,  lifeless  form  of  the  murdered  girl  lying 
before  him,  with  the  rain  and  wind  beating  pitilessly  on 
her  cold,  white  face,  while  the  life  blood  ebbed  slowly 
from  the  wound  his  hand  had  inflicted.  He  closed  his 
eyes  with  a  shudder,  and  pressed  his  hands  over  them  ; 
but  he  saw  her  before  him  still.  How  the  scorpion  tting 
of  conscience  lashed  him  now,  in  the  deep  silence  of  the 
solemn  night. 

At  length  he  fell  into  an  uneasy  slumber,  but  only  to 
re-enact,  in  fev  ish  dreams,  the  vision  of  his  waking 
hours.  Still  before  him  was  that  body  on  the  beach  ;  but 
now,  as  he  gazed,  the  deep-blue  eyes  seemed  to  open  and 
fix  themselves  with  a  look  of  unutterable  reproach  on  his 
face.  Slowly  the  rigid  form  seemed  to  rise  and  approach 
him.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  with  ils  glassy,  stony 
eyes  staring  upon  him  steadily,  until  it  stood  by  his  bed- 
side. His  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth  ;  cold 
drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  brow  ;  ho  would  liave 
cried  out,  but  his  throat  seemed  parched.  AVith  one 
spectral  hand  it  pointed  to  the  gash  in  its  side,  and  laid 
the  other,  icy  cold,  on  his  brow.  With  a  shriek  of  terror 
he  sprang  from  the  bed  and  stood  trembling  in  every  limb 
on  the  lloor. 


2^>3 


TTIK  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


1    V 


n 


i;  3 


He  lookcMl  around  in  an  af^^onv  of  fear  and  horror,  Itnt 
lie  was  alone  ;  and  wiMi  tectii  chattei'in<,^  and  ]iead  rooling 
lie  sank  into  a  scat  and  oovorod  liis  faoe  with  his  Ininds, 
exeliii Filing  : 

**  Oh.  it  WMS  she  !  It  was  slic  !  Am  I  never  to  be  rid 
of  this  ghostly  ])reseneo  ?  Is  slie  to  rise  from  lier  ooeaii 
grave  tlius,  evi-ry  night,  to  drive  me  mad  ? "' 

The  great  ohl  (doek  in  tlie  liall  chimed  twelve,  lie 
shiKhlered  at  the  sound  :  and,  hearing  footste])s  aseendiiig 
the  stairs,  knew  that  tlie  family  was  rt'tii'ing.  Casting 
himself  onee  more  oji  tin;  bed  he  strove  to  eom])ose  him- 
av.lf  and  while  away  in  fitful  slumber  the  tedious  hours  till 
morniiiu'  should  dawn. 


CHAPTER  XXV 11. 

THE  WIDOWED    BRIDEGROOM. 

"  One  fatal  remenibrance,  one  sorrow  which  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes. 
To  whieh  lif(!  notliin^^  darker  uv  brij,'ld('r  can  l>rinfjr, 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm,  and  atliiction  no  sting." 

— MOOUK 

AxD  where,  meantime,  was  he  wliose  headstrong  pas- 
sions had  brought  nbout  this  catastrophe  ?  Where  was 
Willard  Drummond  ? 

In  his  far-otf  Virginia  home  he  had  seen  the  last  re- 
mains of  liis  only  surviving  parent  laid  in  the  grave,  and 
found  himself  the  sole  possessor  oi  an  almost  princely  for- 
tune. And  noAv,  in  the  deepest  mourning,  and  witli  a  brow 
on  which  rested  still  the  sad  shadow  of  tliat  newly  closed 
grave,  he  turned  his  face  once  more  toward  the  house  of 
Sybil  Campbell. 

A  complete  change,  a  total  revulsion  of  feeling  had  taken 
place  within  him  during  the  last  few  days.  The  awful 
presence  of  death  had  hushed  the  clamorous  voices  of 
jiassion  and  ambition,  and  awoke  within  him  the  deepest 
feelings  of  remorse  for  the  unmanly  part  he  had  acted. 
All  his  sopliistries  and  specious  reasonings  were  swept 
away  by  that  dying  bed,  and  he  felt  in  its  fullest  force 
how  base  and  unworthy  liad  been  his  conduct.  He  felt  it 
was  his  imperative  duty,  in  spite  of  love  and  wounded 
honor,  to  renounce  Sybil  Campbell  forever,  and,  let  the 


TUE  WIDOWED  lUUDEGROOM. 


22:] 


^v 


'[ 


id 


it 
^d 


coiiseqiieiicos  be  whiitihcy  ini^'ht,  to  U-ll  lierull.  It  would 
bo  a  bitter  luimiliuLioii  to  liiiu,  it  would  briuf;  l.t't'loii^T 
sorrow  to  hor,  but  tlicro  wjih  110  iiUcrnative.  lie  slinmk 
from  the  thoii<^lit  of  the  ternl)le  outbur.st  of  j)sisHioii  iii.s 
confession  would  be  received  with  ;  but  better  this  tlmii 
tlie  sluinie  and  di-syraee  of  wedilinm'  the  liusbund  of  iin- 
otiier. 

Christie  WHS  bis  wife  — his  patient,  U)vintj^  little  wife — 
{ind  as  sucb  must  bo  acknowledged  before  llu;  world  ;  and 
with  the  resolution  of  following  the  j)ronij)tijigs  of  his 
l)ett(!r  nature,  ho  reached  Westport  one  lowering  autumn 
day  ;  and,  weary  aiul  travel  stained,  entered  the  West- 
brook  House. 

'J'he  iirst  person  on  whom  his  eyes  rested  as  lu;  wont  in 
was  Captain  (Juy  Campbtjll,  sitting  at  a  table,  sipping  his 
coifee  and  glancing  over  tho  morning  pai)er. 

The  noise  of  his  entrance  made  Captain  (Juy  look  up  ; 
and,  starting  to  his  feet,  he  caught  his  hand  and  shook  it 
lieartily,  while  he  exclaimed  : 

''  Drummond,  my  old  friend  !  delighted  to  have  you 
liere  with  us  again.  Here,  sit  down.  Have  you  break- 
fasted ?  " 

*'  No  ;  I  have  only  just  arrived.  How  are  all  my  friends 
— your  sister  and  the  Brantwells  ?  "  said  W^illard,  taking 
tlie  i)rolfered  seat. 

"  All  well  ;  though  Sybil  has  been  worrying  hei'self  to 
a  skeleton  about  that  sad  affair  on  the  island.  You  have 
heard  of  it,  1  suppose  ?" 

"  Xo  ;  what  sad  affair  ?  "  said  Willard,  with  a  start. 

'•'Why,  the  death  of  little  Christie,  to  be  sure!  It  is 
very  singular  you  have  not  lieard  of  it.  I'he  papers  are 
all  full  of  it ;  but — good  heavens  I  my  dear  fellow — what 
is  the  matter?  Are  yon  ill?"  said  Captain  Cami)l)ell, 
rising  in  alarm. 

Reeling  as  though  he  had  received  a  spear  thrust  through 
his  heart,  Willard  Drummond  S[)rang  to  his  feet,  and  with 
a  face  deadly  white  grasi)ed  his  friend  by  the  arm  and  said, 
in  a  choking  voice  : 

''  Dead,  did  vou  say  ?  Christie  dead  ?  How  ?  When? 
Where  ?     Of  what  did  she  die?" 

''  Really,  Drummond,  this  agitation  is  most  nnaccount- 
able,"  said  Captain  Campbell,  slowly,  and  in  extreme 
surprise. 


f? 


n 


1;; 


U^TT 


224 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I    1 


II  i; 

■I  V 


sho  iliu  ?  " 

'I'll is  is  most   cxtraoniijiary,"  iM^plicd 


**  Dejicl  f  (load  ! '*  said  Drinnuioiid,  unlicedinglils  words, 
*'  (J real  licavon  '. — speak  and  toll  me — how  was  it  ?  Wlioii 
was  it  ?     Wlioro  di( 

"  On  tho  island. 
Caj)tain  Cainpboll,  looking  at  the  pale,   agitated  face  be- 
fore liini  in  still  increasing  sur})riso. 

**01i,  Captain  ('ainpl)ell  I"  exclaimed  Willard,  in  bitter 
sorrow,  "  if  you  call  yourself  my  fi'icnd,  do  not  keep  mo 
in  suspense  now — tell   me  all — how  did  she  die  ?  " 

"Jt  is  very  extraor<linary,  all  this/'  said  the  astoiushed 
young  captain,  who  wiis  (piite  uni)repared  for  such  an  out- 
hurst  of  feeding  from  the  usually  gay,  nonchalant  Willard 
Drummond.     ''  Then  you  liavo  not  .'leard  she  was " 

''  What?" 

''Murdered  !"  said  Oaptain  Campbell. 

**  Murdered  !  Oh.  my  God  !  "  Aiul  with  a  deep  groan 
that  seemed  tearing  its  way  up  through  his  anguished 
heart,  Willard  sank  into  his  chair  and  buried  liis  face  in 
liis  hands. 

Ca})tain  Campbell  looked  at  liim  with  the  most  un- 
bounded .'unazement. 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul  !  "  ho  broke  out  at  length  :  "  if 
this  doesn't  surpass  anything  ever  I  dreamed  of  I  1  can 
understand  feeding  sorry  and  horrilied  at  so  atrocious  a 
deed — I  felt  all  that  myself;  but  to  take  on  in  this  way 
is  something  beyond  me,  I  must  confess.  Waiter,  more 
coffee.'' 

*'  Campbell,  tell  me  all,"  said  Willard,  springiTig  up  and 
fiercely  dashing  back  his  long  bhick  hair.  "  Who  could 
have  committed  so  base,  so  atrocious,  so  damnable  a 
deed  ?  Oh,  can  there  exist  a  being  on  Cod's  earth  cap- 
able of  committing  so  infernal  a  crime  ?  Who  is  it  ? — 
speak  and  tell  me  ;  and  nuiy  heaven's  heaviest  curses  rest 
npon  him  now  and  for  all  eternity  !  AVho  had  the  heart 
to  hurt  one  hair  of  her  gentle   head  ?  " 

*'  Drummond,  my  dear  fellow,  what  means  all  this 
violent  agitation  ?     What  was  little  Christie  to  you  ?" 

The  keen,  searching  look,  the  meaning  tone  and  prob- 
ing question  brought  him  from  his  fierce  outburst  of  re- 
morse and  anguish  to  a  sense  of  the  presence  in  which  he 
stood.  This  was  not  the  time  or  place  for  the  revelation  ; 
nor  was  it  to  Captain  Guy  Campbell  that  revelation  was 
destined  to  be  made.     Controlling  his  agony  of  bitter  sor- 


I  bc- 


TIIE  WIDOWED  BRIDEGKOOM. 


225 


jj 


''if 
can 


and 
)iild 
a 


'ob- 
re- 
he 
m; 
r'as 
or- 


row  and  still  more  bitter  remorse,  and  feelinf]^  the  nec- 
essity of  calmly  bearing  all,  by  a  tremendous  elTort  liesub- 
dned  his  llerccly  excited  feelings  and  dropped  in  his  seat, 
and  said,  while  he  shaded  his  face  with  his  hands  : 

"To  me- to  me?  Nothing;  yet  1  felt  toward  her  Jil- 
niost  as  if  she  were  my  sister.  When  last  I  left  her  sho 
was  full  of  life  and  youth  and  vigor,  and  now — now  to  hear 
so  suddenly  that  she  is  dead — aiul  murdered  I  She,  sweet, 
fair  and  gentle  as  an  angel,  to  meet  such  a  fate  !  Oh, 
Campbell,  is  it  not  enough  to  drive  oiu^  )nad  to  think  of  it  I  " 

"  It  is  a  sad  thing,  I  must  confess,"  said  ('ai)taiii 
Campbcdl,  who,  Ixdng  the  most  unsuspicious  of  human 
beings,  received  this  explanation  as  perfectly  satisfactory  : 
"and  no  one  but  a  demon  in  human  form  could  have  per- 
])etrated  the  deed." 

'•  Who  is  the  murderer?"  said  Drummond,  in  a  deep, 
hollow  voice. 

"  That  cannot  be  discovered  ;  the  island  and  every  place 
else,  I  believe,  has  been  searched,  but  no  clue  to  his  ap- 
prehension can  be  found  ;  rewards  were  olfered — the  police 
put  on  the  track,  but  all  in  vain." 

*•'  When  was  the  diabolical  crime  committed  ?  " 

'*  The  very  night  you  left  Newport,  ^'ou  remember 
the  terriiic  storm  of  that  night.  Somewhere  about  mid- 
night, it  is  sup[)osed,  ])oor  C'liristie  was  assassimited. 
The  deed  wjis  committed  somewhere  near  tlu;  shore  ;  and 
as  the  tide  was  very  high,  the  body,  if  left  on  the  rocks, 
must  liave  been  swept  away.  What  could  have  brought 
Christie  from  the  house  at  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a 
storm,  nnless  she  had  been  forcibly  carried  out,  is  a  mys- 
tery still  unsolved." 

In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  another  anguished  groan  broke 
from  the  tortured  heart  of  Drummond.  The  thought  of 
his  note  appointing  that  fatal  meeting  !  Oh,  too  well  ho 
knew  what  had  brought  her  there  ;  and  a  pang  keener 
than  death  pierced  his  soul  as  he  thought  of  that  slight, 
delicate  girl  plunging  through  all  that  howling  tempest  to 
meet  him  ! 

"Who  was  on  the  island  at  the  time  ?  "  he  asked,  after 
a  pause. 

"  Xo  one  but  Mrs.  Tom  and  Carl  and  one  or  two 
negroes  ;  and — yet — now  I  think  of  it.  Sybil  was  there 
too." 


M 


226 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I 


i 


It 


f  i 


"  Sybil  ?  "  said  Willard,  with  a  start. 

'•  Yes  :  she  went  over  shortly  after  you  went  away. 
Poor  Christie,  it  seems,  wanted  lier  for  something  and 
sent  her  a  note.  What  it  contained  I  cannot  say,  but  it 
seemed  to  ai^iiatc  Syl)il  as  I  have  seldom  seen  her  a<,ntated 
before  ;  an(l  the  result  of  it  was  that  she  insisted,  despite 
the  gathering  storm,  on  going  to  the  island  that  night/' 

What  was  tlie  thought  that  made  Willard  Drummond 
turn  so  gliastly  at  that  moment  ?  Had  Christie,  in  th;.t 
note,  revealed  their  nnirriage,  and  had  Sybil,  in  a  lit  of 
passion —he  shrank  in  liorror,  in  loathing  of  himself  at 
the  terrible  thought  that  tlie  arch  fiend  suggested  at  that 
moment.  AVild,  vindictive,  passionate,  frenzied  in  her 
rage,  he  knew  her  to  be  ;  but,  oh,  never,  never  could  even 
her  terrific  passion  carry  her  so  far  away  as  to  raise  her 
hand  against  that  gentle  ciiild's  life,  iiut  who  could  have 
done  it  ?  Christie,  the  unknown  island  girl,  had  not  au 
enemy  in  the  vv'orld  except  Sybil  ;  and  she,  in  violent  agi- 
tation, liad  braved  storm  and  danger  and  death  to  reach 
the  island  that  night.  Oh,  horrible  thought  !  With  his 
brain  reeling  with  conflicting  emotions,  he  felt  for  the 
moment  as  if  his  very  reason  was  leaving  him. 

Ca})tain  Campbell,  sitting  placidly  before  him,  sipping 
his  colTee,  saw  nothing  of  what  was  passing  in  his  breast ; 
and,  setting  his  unexpected  emotion  down  partially  to  the 
morbid  state  of  his  mind  since  his  father's  death  and  the 
want  of  rest,  arose  and  said  : 

''  My  dear  Drummond,  you  must  be  tired  and  worn  out 
with  your  journey.  You  had  better  retire  at  once.  1  will 
call  here  this  afternoon  again.  When  do  you  intend 
visiting  Newport  ?  " 

''  Any  time — to-day,  to-morrow,  immediately,"  an- 
swered Drummond,  incoherently,  scarcely  conscious  of 
what  he  said. 

"I  am  going  there  to-morrow.  Wliat  say  you  to  going 
then  ?"  said  his  companion,  with  a  stare  of  suri)rise. 

'•  I  shall  be  at  your  service,"  said  Drummond,  striving 
to  rally  himself.  ."  AVhat  Avith  fatigue  and  all,  I  am  rather 
bewildered  as  yet;  but  I  trust  by  that  time  to  be  far 
enough  recruited  to  pay  my  devoirs  to  the  hidies  at  the 
parsoiuige.'"' 

*' Very  strange,  I  must  say,"  mupei  Captain  Campbell, 
as  he  ran  down  the  stepb  and  entered  the  crowded  street. 


l'\\  ■ 


THE  WIDOWED  BRIDEGROOM. 


227 


)y 


IvJiig 

itlier 
far 
the 

[bell, 
reet. 


*' Very  strange,  indeed,  that  the  news  of  licile  Christie's 
death  should  so  cllect  him.  1  had  some  notion  once  that 
Sybil  was  a  little  jealous  of  Christie,  and,  faitli,  I  begin  to 
think  she  may  have  had  some  cause  for  it.  But  perluips  I 
wrong  Drummond  after  ail.  He  is  not  very  excita])lo 
usually,  I  know  ;  but  his  mind  being  unusually  troubled, 
Christie's  dreadful  death  may  have  given  him  i;  shock. 
He  dare  not  trifle  with  Sybil  ;  if  he  does  he  will  feel  the 
weigiit  of  a  Campbell's  vengeance  !" 

Willard,  meantime,  had  secured  a  private  room,  and  was 
pacing  up  and  down  and  striving  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
The  first  shock  was  over — the  first  thrill  of  lu^rror  at  the 
news  was  past ;  and  though  sorrow  for  her  fate  and  bitter 
remorse  for  what  ho  himself  had  done  still  remained,  ho 
could  not  suppress  something  very  like  a  feeling  of  relief. 

Alas  !  for  all  his  good  resolutions.  Cone  were  they  now, 
as  the  fadin_pf  sunlight  flies  before  the  approach  of  night ; 
and  his  love,  ids  hopes,  his  desires  were  in  the  ascendant 
again.  Perhaps  he  was  not  altogether  to  blame  for  the 
fickleness  of  his  miture.  Perhaps  most  of  it  might  be 
owing  to  his  education,  to  those  with  whom  he  had  mingled 
and  the  world  for  which  alone  he  had  ever  lived. 

He  thought  of  Sybil.  I'hat  momentry  suspicion  was 
quiet,  and  he  hated  himself  for  ever  having  indulged  itjiu 
instant.  No  ;  terrific  as  he  knew  her  to  be  when  her  lioa 
passion  was  aroused,  he  felt  that  not  on  Christie — guile- 
less, inoffensive  Christie — would  fall  her  vengeance,  but 
on  him  who  rightly  deserved  it,  His  glorious,  high- 
spirited  Sybil,  the  descendant  of  a  daring,  chivalrous  race, 
would  not  stoop  to  slay  a  weak,  unprotected  girl  like  this. 
There  was  no  obstacle  now  to  prevent  his  marriage  ;  she 
might  lawfully  become  his  wife  when  his  period  of  mourn- 
ing was  past.  There  was  a  thrill  of  private  joy  in  his  heart 
at  the  thought;  but  the  sad,  reproachful  face  of  Christie 
rose  like  a  vision  before  him,  and  with  a  shudder  he  sat 
down,  while  remorse  again  tugged  at  his  heart  strings. 

So  passed  the  morning  ;  and  when  Captain  Camj)bell 
entered  his  room  again  he  found  him — though  outwardly 
calm  and  composed — pale  witli  many  conflicting  emotions. 

Before  he  left  it  was  arrancfcd  that  thev  should  set  out 
together  the  following  day  for  Newport. 

And  eariy  next  morning  the  two  young  men  started  for 
the  residence  of  the  Brant  wells.     They  reached  it  late  the 


i? 


ti' 


!  m 


K' 


1'  i  '  t 


!! 


ill 


f' '  mil 


'I         M 


I         i 


i 


i  '    '  '                  t' 

:.    Jl          :.  1 

IlL;   ' 

228 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


same  afternoon,  and  were  warmly  welcomed  by  good  Mrs. 
Brantwell.  Sybil,  thinner  and  paler  than  Wilhird  had  ever 
beheld  her,  fluslied  with  pleasure  as  he  embraced  her  and 
took  a  seat  by  her  side. 

He  looked  earnestly  into  her  face,  but  she  had  notliing 
there  save  deep,  subdued  sadness  ;  no  guilt  lingered  on 
that  broad,  queenly  brow  or  in  those  clear,  bright  eyes. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  conversation  first  turned  on 
Christie  and  her  melancholy  fate. 

"  You  have  heard  of  it,  no  doubt,  Mr.  Drummond/* 
said  Mrs.  Brantwell. 

*'  From  my  friend  Captain  Campbell — yes,  ma'am,"  he 
answered,  gravely  but  calmly. 

Sybil's  keen  eyes  were  bent  with  ill-concealed  anxiety 
•upon  him,  and  she  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  as  she 
noted  his  quiet  gravity  as  if  a  heavy  load  had  been  lifted 
off  her  breast. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Tom,"  sighed  the  minister's  wife  ;  "she  is 
indeed  to  be  pitied.  1  urged  her  to  quit  that  lonesome 
island,  and  we  would  provide  for  her  somewhere  here,  but 
she  refused,  and  says  that  the  only  comfort  she  has  now  is 
watching  the  waves  under  which  her  darling  Christie  is 
buried." 

A  faint  shudder  passed  over  Drummond's  frame,  in  spite 
of  himself,  at  her  words. 

"  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Brantwell,"  said  Captain  Campbell, 
"  where  are  the  Courtneys  ?  They  were  speaking  of  going 
away  somewhere  when  last  I  was  here." 

"  Yes,  they  have  gone  home.  Mr.  Courtaey  was  in 
very  poor  health,  and  even  Mrs.  Courtney,  poor  thing  ! 
seemed  to  have  lost  most  of  her  high  s})irits,  and  was  glad 
to  be  on  the  wing  again,"  replied  Mrs.  Brantwell. 

During  this  short  dialogue  Sybil  and  Willard  were  con- 
versing together  in  low  tones. 

''  And  so  your  resolution  is  really  to  go  abroad  ?"  said 
Sybil,  lifting  hor  dark  eyes  anxiously  to  his  face. 

"  Yes,  but  for  some  moiiths  only  ;  and  the  project  gives 
me  ]"/leasure  in  the  thought  alone  that  in  so  doing  I  shall 
not  be  separated  from  you." 

"  No  !     A  'd  hov/  ?  she  said,  in  surprise. 

"Then  you  are  not  aware  that  your  brother,  having 
completed  all  his  business  and  refitted  his  vessel,  is  about 
to  take  you  with  him  again  to  England  ? 


f> 


THE  WIDOWED  BRIDEGROOM. 


229 


A 


111 

iig! 


ives 
hall 


mrf 


*'  I  was  really  quite  ignonmt  of  that  fact." 

"Well,  so  it  is.  We  all  start  together  in  three  weeks* 
time,  I  believe." 

A  tlusli  of  pleased  surprise  passed  over  Sybil's  pale  face. 

**  Then  iu  that  case  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  ac- 
complishiug  my  long-cherished  wish  of  visiting  Italy.  I 
have  long  and  ardently  desired  to  see  that  beautiful  land." 

*'  And^ifter  tliat,  fairest  Sybil  ?" 

"I  shall  return  home." 

**  And  what  then,  beautiful  one  ?" 

"*  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,'"  quoted 
Sybil,  with  a  smile.  "  Who  knows  what  the  future  may 
bring  forth  ?  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  beautiful  Sybil,"  said  Drummond,  in 
the  low,  musical  tones  that  had  so  often  thrilled  to  her 
inmost  heart.  '*  After  that  may  I  claim  tliis  little  hand 
as  mine  ?  Say,  fairest  Sybil,  may  I  look  forward  to  our 
return  to  claim  my  bride  ? "' 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  handsome  face  bending  over 
her,  so  full  of  perfect  love  and  devotion  now,  {ind,  like 
the  frank,  glorious  creature  she  was,  she  laid  her  hand  in 
his  and  said  : 

"  '^'es." 

"  Why,  Sybil,  my  dear,"  broke  in  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Brantwell  at  this  interesting  juncture,  in  tones  of  deepest 
dismay,  **  do  you  know  what  Guy  says  ?  All  three  of  you 
are  to  start  off  on  a  wild-goose  chase  to  Europe,  instead  of 
settling  down  and  behaving  yourselves  as  sensible  Chris- 
tians should.  It's  really  quite  abominable,  and  I,  for  one, 
have  set  my  face  against  it  ;  and  I'm  sure,  Sybil,  you'll 
agree  with  me." 

"Really,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brantwell,"  said  Sybil,  smilii;g, 
"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot.  I  wish  to  go  quite  as  much  as 
Guy." 

"You  do?"  exclaimed  the  minister's  wife.  "Well, 
upon  my  word,  if  this  is  not  too  provoking  !  It  all  comes 
of  having  a  taste  for  rambling,  and  being  male  and  female 
sailors,  the  whole  of  you  !  1  always  thought  sailors  were 
vagabonds  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  without  anv  settled 
place  of  abode,  and  I'm  sure  of  it  now.  You  don't  expect 
to  be  able  to  go  in  three  weeks,  I  should  hope  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  do.  What's  to  hinder  ?"  said  Sybil. 
*^  I  am  not  a  fine  lady,  you  know,  and  don't  require  two 


t^. 


i.« 


Wr^ 


mm 


ii  h  '< 


ii'" 


h 


m 


m-ha 


h 


I;  1 


230 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


or  three  dozen  trunks  pcacked  before  I  start.  So,  Captain 
Campbell,  though  you  did  not  do  me  the  honor  of  con- 
sulting me  before  all  your  arrangements  were  made,  I 
sliall  reserve  my  wounded  pride  and  indignation  to  another 
season,  and  be  ready  to  go  with  you  at  a  moment's  warn- 


inir 


Mrs.  l^rantwell  expostulated*  in  vain.  Sybil  would  go, 
but  promised  faithfully  to  return  within  nine  months  at 
furthest. 

And  so,  three  weeks  later,  our  trio  stood  on  the  deck  of 
the  Evening  Star,   **  outward  bound." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE   THUNDERBOLT   FALLS. 

"  Tlioy  spake  not  a  word  ; 

i-  >     like  dumb  statues,  or  breathless  stones, 

Staied  at  each  other,  and  looked  deadly  pale." 

—Shakespeare. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  chronicle  the  events  of  that 
foreign  tour.  Suffice  it  to  say  it  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and 
Captain  Guy  Campbell,  Willard  Drummond  and  his  be- 
trotlied  stood  once  more  uj^on  the  shore  of  their  native 
land. 

There  was  a  joyful  meeting  that  day  in  the  parsonage. 
Good  Mrs.  Brantwell,  as  she  again  clasped  her  favorite 
Sybil  in  her  arms,  shed  tears  of  joy. 

Those  twelve  months  of  absence  had  greatly  improved 
Sybil.  The  rich  bloom  of  perfect  health  again  mantled 
her  cheeks  ;  her  magnificent  eyes,  brilliant  with  hope  and 
happiness,  once  more  outshone  her  diamonds.  Through 
all  the  foreign  cities  through  which  she  had  traveled  her 
dai  iling  beauty  had  created  the  deepest  sensation.  Known 
to  be  an  heiress,  beauty  and  belle,  countless  hearts  had 
been  laid  r.t  her  feet;  but  Sybil  never  for  an  instant,  in 
thought  or  act,  was  unfaithful  to  that  first  strong,  undying 
love  tliat  was  part  of  her  very  nature. 

And  now  the  period  of  Willard  Drummond's  mourning 
was  past,  and  tliey  had  returned  home  to  be  united  at  last. 

How  ardently  and  truly  he  loved  Sybil  now — far  better 
than  he  had  ever  done  before.  How  proudly  he  had 
exulted  in  the  knowledge  that  this  peerless,  queenly  girl, 


Tfl 


h 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  FALLS. 


231 


at  whoso  feet  coronets  had  heen  laid  and  rejected,  wtid  his 
— his  alone;  Wv/uld  soon  be  liis  bride — his  wife.  How  big 
licjirt  had  swelled  with  triumph  when  he  beheld  the  en- 
vious looks  .:ad  jealous  ghmces  bestowed  npon  him  by 
more  than  one  titled  nobleman  of  other  lauds.  He  longed, 
as  the  blind  long  for  sight,  for  tlie  time  wlien  this  glorious, 
radiant  Sybil  would  be  his  own  undisputed  wife,  beyiuul 
earthly  power  to  separate  tliem.  Until  that  time  came  ho 
must  live  in  nncertainty,  not  knowing  whether  this  prize 
might  not  yet  sli[)  tlirough  his  fingers. 

Tliat  time  so  ardeutlv  looked  forward  to  was  at  hand 
now.  Preparations  for  the  wedding  were  already  com- 
menced on  a  scale  of  magnificence  that  was  destined  to 
electrify  the  community  far  and  near,  and  which  the 
princely  fortunes  of  the  bride-  and  bridegroom  could  alone 
justify. 

Tlie  day  was  appointed,  and  invitations  were  sent  out 
to  all  the  elite  within  fifty  miles  to  attend  the  ball  with 
which  it  was  then  customary  to  conclnde  a  wedding. 

Sybil,  with  her  usual  wilfulness,  would  not  be  married 
in  the  house  in  the  evening  ;  it  did  not  seem  right,  she 
said.  She  would  be  married  in  the  churcli  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  and  as  this  was  of  little  consequence  to  the  rest,  her 
wish  was  immediatelv  acceded  to. 

On  rosy  wings  sped  on  the  time  until  the  auspicious 
morning  dawned.  Brightly  and  cloudlessly  arose  the  sun, 
ushering  in  a  day  as  glorious  as  ever  came  out  of  the 
heavens.  How  little  did  any  one  dream  how  darkly  and 
fatally  that  day  was  destined  to  end  ! 

It  w^as  arriingcd  that  the  day  following  the  ceremony 
tlie  bridal  pair  should  again  take  their  (lc})arture  for  a 
wedding  tour,  and  everything  was  prepared  accordingly. 

Good  Mrs.  Brantwell,  as  mistress  of  the  ceremonies, 
had  a  terribly  busy  time  of  it  for  the  foregoing  two  weeks. 
Milliners  and  dressmakers  from  the  city  fdled  the  upper 
rooms,  and  cooks  and  confectioners  the  lower  regions.  To 
lier  lot  it  fell  to  purchase  dresses,  laces,  jewels,  etc.,  for 
the  use  of  the  bride — who,  with  cliaractcristic  indilfci'enco 
to  all  sujh  things,  would,  if  left  to  herself,  commit  the 
unpardo'.:a])le  sin  of  being  married  in  her  simple  wiiito 
robe  of  India  muslin,  instead  of  her  splendid  silver  bro- 
cade, frosted  with  seed  pearls,  which  the  sum))tuous  taste 
of  that  worthy  lady  had  selected.     xVmong  the  many  guests 


■«■  ft- 


lii 


I 


!■ 


liii 


■4 


in.- 


232 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


invited  to  the  *'  wedding  feast  "  we  may  mention  our  old 
friend,  Mrs.  Tom.  Poor  little  Mrs.  Tom  !  Since  the 
loss  of  little  Christ!:)  she  had  never  been  the  same  bright, 
brisk,  breezy,  chirruping  body  she  had  been  before,  and 
tliough  still  active  and  bustling  as  ever,  her  cheery  laugh 
Avas  far  less  often  heard.  Mv.  Carl  Henley,  too,  was  to 
be  present,  and  made  his  appearance  on  the  eventful 
morning  in  a  long,  blue  '' swaller-tails,"  brilliant  with 
brass  buttons,  his  boots  and  hair  shining  with  lard,  and 
his  round,  full-moon  face  wearing  a  look  of  sublime  beati- 
fication, serene  in  the  blissful  consciousness  of  a  new  suit 
of  clothes  and  a  pair  of  vrhite  gloves,  every  greasy  hair  in 
his  head  breathing  of  "  peace  on  earth,  and  good-will  to 
man." 

Two  young  girls  from  Westportwere  to  be  bridesmaids, 
and  a  young  Englishman,  whom  they  had  met  abroad, 
together  with  a  cousin  of  Mr.  Drummond's,  were  to  be 
groomsmen.  Captain  Campbell,  as  her  nearest  relative, 
was  to  give  the  bride  away. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  first  carriages  began  to  arrive, 
and  soon  the  lower  hall  and  drawing-room  were  crowded 
with  guests,  waiting  to  accompany  the  bridal  party  to 
church. 

In  her  room,  before  a  full-length  mirror,  Sybil  Camp- 
bell, so  soon  to  be  Sybil  Drummond,  stood,  while  half  a 
dozen  girls,  headed  by  Mrs.  Briintwell,  arrayed  her  for 
tlio  bridal.  jMagnificently  beautiful  she  looked  as  she 
stood  there,  her  rich  robe  of  sheeny  silk  floating  about 
her  regal  form,  her  queenly  brow  chisped  by  a  tiara  of 
finest  diamonds,  her  gaudy  veil  of  costliest  lace  envelop- 
ino^  her  like  a  cloud  of  mist — her  darlc  clieeks  flushed 
with  excitement,  her  magnificent  eyes  outflashiug  the 
jewels  she  wore. 

'"'  Beautiful  !  glorious  !  radiant  I  "  broke  from  the  li])s 
of  her  attendants,  as  they  stepped  back  to  survey  the 
effect. 

"Yes,  beautiful  indeed  I "  mentally  exclaimed  iSFrs. 
i^rantwell  ;  beautiful  beyond  compare  looks  my  peerless 
Sybil  in  her  bridal  robes." 

And  just  then  the  door  was  thrown  impetuously  open, 
and  o]ie  of  the  bridesmaids,  a  vivacious  little  lady,  with 
twinkling  brown  eyes,  burst  in,  exclaiming  . 

**  Girls  I  girls  !  aren't  you  ready  yet  ?     Oh,  my  good- 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  FALLS. 


233 


ness  I  Sybil,  liow  splendid  you  look  !  But  do  hurry  ;  that 
happiest  of  mortal  men,  Mr.  Willard  Drummond,  is  wait- 
ing, with  all  the  rest  of  the  folks— a  hundred  and  fifty,  if 
there's  one — down-stairs,      llurrv  I  " 

Thus  adjured,  like  a  floek  oif  st;irtled  birds,  the  bower 
maidens  lied  to  arrange  their  own  toilet,  and  Sybil  was 
alone  with  Mrs.  BraJitwell. 

"  My  own  precious  Sybil  !  and  am  I  to  lose  you  at 
last  ?"  said  ^Irs.  Brantwell,  clasping  her  in  her  arms,  and 
gazing  upon  her  sparkling  face  with  eyes  of  yearning 
fondness. 

''  Dear  Mrs.  Brantwell,  my  second  mother,  come  what 
may,  let  the  future  bring  what  it  will,  you  will  ever  hold 
the  second  place  in  my  heart,"  said  Sybil,  dropping  her 
head  on  the  sh  on  hi  or  of  her  friend. 

'^And  you  are  happy — perfectly  happy,  my  own  dar- 
ling ?  " 

''  Oh,  yes  ;  perfectly  happy — too  happy  for  words  to 
say.  Oh,  Mrs.  Brantwell  !  my  only  fetir  is  that  such  in- 
tense joy  is  too  blissful  to  last.'' 

'^And  you  have  perfect  trust — perfect  faith  in  him  who 
is  so  soon  to  be  your  husband  ?  Does  no  doubt  still  linger 
amid  all  this  love  ?  " 

'^None  !  none  !  not  the  sliglitost — not  the  faintest.  Oli, 
I  wronged  him  by  ever  doubting  his  trutli.  1  conhl  slako 
my  hopes  of  heaven  on  his  fidelity  now  !'  exclaimed  Sybil, 
with  some  of  her  old  (ierce  impetuosity. 
^  "Thank  heaven  for  tliat,''  said  Airs'!  Brantwell,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief.  Oh,  Sybil  I  dearest,  ei-adicate  forever  from 
your  heart  this  fatal  dream  of  jealousy  !  to  doubt  one  we 
love  is  deepest  misery." 

''Oh,  I  know  it'!  I  know  it!"  said  Sybil,  with  a 
shudder,  as  she  recalled  the  stormy  past. 

And  just  then  the  tripping  of' light  feet  approaching 
the  door  was  heard. 

''It  is  the  girls  coming  back  to  take  yo;i  down-stairs,'' 
said  Mrs.  Brantwell.  "And  now  my  "own,  my  dearest 
girl,  may  God  bless  you  and  grant  vouVll  happiiioss." 

"Amen!"  solemnly,  almost  sadly,  said  Sybil,  as  she 
returned  her  embrace,  and  stood  waiting  for  the  entrance 
of  her  bridesmaids. 

They  burst  in  in  a  bevy,  fluttering  round  the  bride  like 
brigat-winged  birds,  as  'they  shook  out  their  glittering 


' 


234 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


\iiMU 

■Ml,         !  t 


llfl 


\ 


i  I' 


m 


m 


I-  <  I 


iiii  I 


plumage  with  little  white,  jeweled  hands,  and  announecd 
that  the  bride^'room  and  liis  I'riends  were  waiting  for  them 
in  the  liall   brdow. 

And  togeLncr  the  l)ride  and  lier  friends  descended  the 
stairs,  followed  by  Mrs.  Brantwell,  and  entered  tlie  hall 
crowded  with  guests. 

A  low  niurniiir  of  admiration  passed  through  the  throng 
at  sight  of  the  radiant  briih;.  And  WillanJ  Drummond, 
handsome,  suave  and  stately,  stepi^^d  forw.'ird,  nnd  drew 
her  hand  within  liis  arm,  and  led  iicr  to  the  carriage  that 
was  to  convey  them  to  the  church. 

The  others  followed,  and,  as  that  sacred  edifice  was 
situated  hut  a  few  ynrds  from  the  house,  they  reached  it 
in  a  proportionately  short  space  of  time. 

The  church,  too,  was  crowded,  mostly  by  strangers, 
some  from  ])lacos  far  distant,  drawn  together  by  the 
rumors  of  the  bride's  wondrous  beauty.  So  crowded  was 
it,  that  half  the  bridal  party  could  not  find  seats,  but  were 
obliged  to  stand. 

j\lr.  ]5i-{intwell,  in  full  canonicals,  stood,  book  in  hand, 
awaiting  their  approach. 

They  advanced,  under  the  admiring  eyes  of  the  crowd, 
and  stood  befoi'c  him. 

And  at  that  very  instant,  like  an  inspiration,  flashed 
across  the  mind  of  Willard  Drummond  the  remembrance 
of  the  stran^-e  vision  he  had  seen  years  before.  Hero  it 
was,  all  there  before  him.  The  crowded  church,  the 
bridal  party,  the  clergynum  and  a  bride  wearing  exactly 
the  faces  of  those  he  had  beheld  then.  A  thrill  of  vague 
terror,  he  knew  not  whv,  shot  throusfh  his  heart.  He 
thought  of  Christie — lost,  murdered  Christie — and  of  that 
other  bridal  in  night  and  dark,  and  secrecy.  But  then, 
lifting  his  eyes,  they  fell  on  the  gloriously  beautiful  face 
of  her  who  stood  beside  him,  and  all  was  forgotten  once 
more  but  liis  bride. 

The  ceremony  began  amid  a  breathless  silence,  as  the 
vast  concourse  listened,  with  the  eagerness  they  always  do 
on  such  occasions.  The  questions  were  put  and  answered 
in  the  usual  manner,  when  a  slight  bustle  at  the  door 
broke  for  the  first  time  the  impressive  silence. 

The  clergyman  had  almost  concluded  the  ceremony,  and 
the  bridegroom  was  just  putting  the  nuptial  ring  on  the 
finger  of  the  bride,  with  the  words  .  "  With  this  ring  I 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  FALLS. 


235 


do  thee  wed  ;  with  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow,  in 
the  niune  of " 

\'  Hold  !  I  forbid  the  marriage  !  "  cried  a  deep,  stern 
voice,  that  rung  through  the  church. 

Every  head  was  turned,  every  eye  was  riveted  on  the 
speaker,  a  tall,  determined-looking  man. 

White  with  vague  apprehensions,  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom turned  round,  while  the  bridesmaids  shrieked  out- 
riglit  at  tiio  interruption. 

Mr.  Brantwell  stood,  like  one  thunderstruck,  book  in 
hand. 

And  the  stranger,  the  cause  of  all  this  commotion, 
walked  steadily  up  the  aisle,  and  stood  before  them. 

'MVho  are  you,  sir?"  was  the  anuizod  and  angry 
question  from  the  lii)s  of  Captain  Campbell,  who  was  the 
first  to  recover  from  his  shock  of  astonishment  at  this 
astounding  interruption. 

'' Sheriff  Lawless,  sir;  and  it  is  my  painful  duty  to 
prevent  this  marriage." 

"By  what  right  ?"  fiercely  demanded  the  young  mpn, 
with  kindling  eyes. 

''  13y  a  right  all-sufficient  for  the  purpose,  young  man," 
calmly  answered  the  sheriff.  ''I  have  a  warrant  here  for 
the  arrest  of " 

^•Whom?" 

"  Miss  Sybil  Campbell,  the  bride  !  " 

''  God  of  heaven  !  on  what  charge  ?      You  are   mad 
man  !  "  ' 

^  "  On  the  charge  of  having,  fiftee-.  months  ago,  assas- 
sinated Christina  Tomlinson,  on  CampbolFs  Isle  !  *' 
_    A  wild,  terrific  shriek,  so  full  of  passionate  grief  that 
it  thrilled  through  every  heart,  rang  through   the  build- 
ing.    It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Tom. 


1 1 


I ■  ;  ,4  , 


H 


u 


r 


I' 


236 


TUE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


^H 


I  . 


I 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  DKVOTIOX  OF    LOVE. 

•'  I  know  not  I  ask  not, 
If  Kuilt  is  in  thy  heart ; 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee 
Wlmtever  thou  art." 

— MoonK. 

It  would  be  impos.siblo  to  depict  or  describe  the  con- 
sternation tlijit  reiu^iied  now  within  tlie  cimrcli. 

Mrs.  Tom  in  a  deadly  swoon,  was  borne  from  the  sacred 
edifice. 

The  book  had  dro]^{)ed  from  the  hand  of  tlie  clergyman, 
and  dumb  with  amazt  mcnt  and  incredulity,  he  stood  star- 
ing at  tlie  ofllcial. 

Mrs.  Brantwcll,  pale,  and  almost  fainting  at  so  mon- 
strous a  ch.'irge,  made  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  a  place, 
liid  her  shuddering  face  in  her  trembling  lumds. 

The  bridesmaids,  like  a  flock  of  frightened  birds,  had 
clustered  together,  gazing  around  with  vague,  terror- 
stricken  eyes. 

And  the  people,  after  the  first  shock  of  horror  and 
amazement,  became  mute  as  the  grave — listening,  with 
breathless  interest,  for  the  denouement  of  this  astound- 
ing interruption — with  that  eager,  morbid  curiosity  with 
which  a  crowd  will  always  listen  to  anything  of  the  sort. 

But  the  group  arouiul  the  altar — they  were  the  focua 
of  all  eyes.  Captain  Guy  Campbell,  his  dark  eyes  blaz- 
ing, his  brow  corrugated,  his  lips  white  with  passion, 
stood  gazing  on  the  sheriff  as  if  he  would  spring  upon 
liim  and  rend  him  limb  from  limb  on  the  spot,  for  mak- 
ing so  terrible  a  charge  against  a  sister  of  his. 

That  gentleman  stood  calm,  stern  and  unmoved,  upheld 
by  the  consciousness  that  he  was  doing  his  duty,  however 
2)ainful,  and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed,  with  something  like 
pity,  on  the  face  of  the  bride. 

AVillard  Drummond,  fearing  she  might  faint  or  fall,  had 
encircled  her  waist  with  his  arm,  and,  though  liis  own 
face  was  perfectly  colorless  with  horror  and  indignation, 
stooped  down  and  whispered  : 


tup:  devotion  of  love. 


337 


''  Mv  hrido — mv  wifo — niv  ilcurcst  one,  bo  calm  !    Tliia 

monstrous  lU'cusaLioii  will  bo  oxphiiiu'd." 

1)0  calm  I  there  was  lit  lie  iiei'd  to  t(!ll  licr  to  bo  oahn. 
After  the  first  involniitary  sliock,  she  stood  like  an  out- 
ra;j;ed  oni])r('HS  before  them,  lier  re^ial  form  drawn  up  to 
its  full  heiijht,  her  ii(>blo  brow  ex[)aJided,  lior  dark,  i::a<x- 
nifieeiit  eves  MaziiiLi'  with  insulted  ijride  aud  unutterablo 
scorn,  lier  full  li[)s  curled  with  a  contempt  too  profouiul 
for  words,  lier  whole  face  and  form  irradiated  with  the 
light  of  insulted  majesty. 

There  was  one  instant's  deathlike  j^ause,  broken  at  last 
by  the  voice  of  Mr.  Lawless,  saying,  p(»litely  : 

*'I  am  very  sorry  that  painful  necessity  compels  me  to 
thus  break  np  the  festivities  of  this  day.  This  charge 
against  the  lady  may  ))e  groundless — 1  hope  it  is.  lint  I 
have  a  duty  to  j)erl'orm,  however  nnpleusant  it  nniy  be  to 
mo  and  all  of  you." 

"  On  whose  charge  is  my  sister  arrested  fortius  deed  ? '' 
said  Captain  Campbell,  in  a  deep,  stern  voice. 

''On  that  of  Mr.  Edgar  Courtney,  I  believe,"  answered 
the  sheriir. 

"Edgar  Courtney  !"  rang  from  every  lip,  in  tones  in 
which  amazement  liad  cotui)letely  mastered  every  other 
feeling.     Even  Sybil  looked   bewildered. 

"  Yes  ;  and  in  support  of  his  deposition  he  has  brought 
to  bear  such  a  strong  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence, 
that  even  in  the  face  of  the  charge  being  l)rought  against 
a  young  lady  so  wealthy,  high-born  and  distinguished  as 
Miss  Campbell,  it  was  found  necessai-y  to  issue  a  warrant 
for  her  immediate  apprehension." 

*''  Heaven  of  heavens  I  this  is  maddening  I  Oh,  for  the 
thunderbolt  of  heaven  to  blast  tlnit  double-dyed  perjurer 
where  ho  stands  I  "  exclaimed  Captain  Campbell,  passion- 
ately. 

AVithout  heeding  this  indignant  outburst,  the  sheriff 
turned  to  Sybil  and  said,  courteously  : 

"  Miss  Campbell,  this  duty  is  exceedingly  unpleasant 
to  me  ;  but  I  regret  to  say  you  must  go  with  me  now  I  " 

"  Wherv)  ?"  said  Sybil,  in  a  tone  of  such  supernatural 
calmness,  that  evei-y  one  was  startled. 

''  j\[iss  Campbell,  1  am  vei'y  sorry  ;  but  it  is  my  duty  to 
convey  you  to  the  county  jail,  to  await  your  trial." 

''  The  county  jail  !  "  exclaimed  Sybil,  losing  her  power- 


pp 


238 


tuVj  qvvvs  of  Tiri^  isle. 


PI 


Ijii 


in 

i 


I ..  ; 


'I 

■  it 


m 


l! 


fill  self-control  for  the  firsst  time  diiririL,^  this  tryin;,^  scone  ; 
and  with  ii  convulsive  sluuhler  she  iiid  her  face  on  Will- 
urd's  shoulder. 

lie  (■l;i.s[)ed  licr  closer  to  his  side,  as  if  he  defied  earth 
and  heaven  to  tejir  her  fi'om  liini  ;  hut  still  Ju^  s[»f>l\c  nofc 
a  u'oTfl.  A\'as  it  the  irnjtossihility  of  the  charii-e  ?  W;is  it 
his  indiffriiit ion  ainl  jiorror  ?  or  was  it  this  awful  confirm- 
ation of  Ills  douhls  and  iIh»  vivid  recolleetiou  of  the  scene 
at  the  {istrolo'jer's  tiiat  held  him  dumh  ? 

I>ut  (';i|)laiii  Caniplx'll,  losiiiii^  nil  self-control,  all  re- 
Tiiemhrancc;  of  where  he  stood,  once  more  passionately  and. 
impel  uously  hr(d\e  forth  : 

"'l\)  the  county  jail!  So  help  me  CJod  ! — never! 
Never  will  Syi)il  (Jam[>l)ell  submit  to  such  a  dei,q'a.dation  ! 
Sooner  will  1  shoot  her  dead  with  my  own  hand  where 
she  stands  I  Oh,  "tis  monstrous  ! — outrageous  ! — that 
any  one  should  dare  to  ac.'cuse  a  Camphell  of  such  an  in- 
fernal dectl,  and  live  !  "he  exclaimed,  clenching  his  hands 
and  teelh  in  his  itnpotent,  fiery  wrath. 

'OFv  dear  (Juv,  ho  calm;  remember  Avhere  von  are," 
interposed  Mr.  IJrantwell,  soothingly.  "Jf  Mr.  Lawless 
wants  bail  to  any  amount,  whatever  you  may  name " 

"Parson  lirantwell,  J  should  like  to  obliire  vou.  but 
you  must  bo  aware  that  I  cannot  listen  to  you  ;  unfortu- 
nately the  charge  is  not  a  bailable  one.  And  I  trust," 
added  the  sheriff,  glancing  half  threateningly,  half  pity- 
ingly at  Captain  Campbell,  "  no  resistance  will  be  oil'ered 
me  in  the  discharge  of  my  solemn  duty  ;  for  painful  as 
the  announcement  is,  there  is  no  help  for  it.  The  young 
lady  must  come  with  me  ! '' 

"•  A  bi'ide  to  spend  her  wedding  day  in  a  prison  cell. 
Oh,  saints  in  heaven  ! "  shudderingly  exclaimed  JMrs. 
]kantwell. 

"I  am  ready, ^'  said  Sybil,  lifting  her  pale,  beautiful 
face,  and  speaking  in  tones  of  supernatural  calmness. 
*' I  will  2:0  with  vou,  sir,  and  there  will  bo  no  resistance 
offerc'd.  (.Juy,  dearest  brother,  be  calm  ;  this  violence  will 
not  aid  me,  and  will  low^er  yourself.  Mrs.  Brantwell,  may 
I  trouble    you    to    brinjr  mv  mantle  from  the  carriaire  ?  " 

*'  Ob,  must  you  go  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brantwell,  wring- 
ing her  hands. 

"  Unfortunately,  dear  madam,  there  seems  to  be  no 
alternative." 


THE  DEVOTIOX  OF  LOVE. 


230 


1 


*'  But  not  in  tliiit  dress  ? — not  in  that  dress  ?  Sir.  may 
she  not  return  to  tiie  parrioiiiige  and  ciian^jje  lier  dr»>ss  ?  " 

*'  Mudum,  r  am  very  sorry  ;  but  1  cannot  lose  .sight  of 
my  prisoner." 

A  circle  of  wliitu  rtamod  round  tho  eyes  of  Captiiiii 
Catn|)l)ell,  and  he  clenciied  his  hands  and  groaned  in  liis 
bitter  degradation. 

"  TIkmi  I  ain  quite  ready  to  go.  Mrs.  Brantwell,  diMir- 
est  friend,  farewell — for  a  short  litne  only,  I  trust.  (Juy, 
brotlior,  do  not  feel  this  so  deeply  ;  in  a  iew  days  I  trust 
to  return  to  vou  all  asraiu.  Willard  " — her  clear,  full  voice 
choked  for  tho  first  time,  as  she  turned  to  him  ;  ''dearest 
Willard,  1  must  bid  you  good-by." 

''Oh,  Sybil:  Syb'il  !  Oh,  my  wife!  do  yon  think  I 
will  leave  you  thus  ? '*  he  cried,  passionately,  as,  unheed- 
ing the  many  eyes  upon  him,  lie  strained  her  to  his  bosom 
as  if  he  would  liave  drawn  lier  into  his  very  heart  bevond 
their  reach.  "  Oh,  my  bride  ! — my  beautiful  one  ! — never 
will  I  leave  you — never  !" 

A  radiant  glance,  a  look,  a  smile,  rewarded  liim,  while 
ev*iry  heart  thrilled  at  his  anguished  tones. 

''  Your  own — in  li^e  or  death — in  shame,  disgrace  and 
misery — ever  your  own!"  she  said,  looking  up  into  his 
face  with  deej),  earnest,  undying  love. 

There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  church — every  one  was 
sobbing,  Mrs.  Brantwell  so  convulsively  that  the  sherill", 
who  w'ds  really  a  kind-hearted  man,  was  deeply  distressed. 

"Miss  Campbell,  will  you  accept  my  arm  ?"  he  said, 
feeling  the  necessity  of  bringing  this  scene  at  once  to  an 
end  ;  "  my  carriage  is  at  the  door  to  convey  you  to " 

''The  county  jail!  Oh,  Syliil  I — oh!  my  sister! 
"Would  to  God  you  had  died  before  you  had  seen  this 
day  !  " 

"  ]5rother  !  brother  !  be  calm  !  Mr.  Lawless,  I  attend 
you  !  "  said  Sybil,  advancing  a  stop,  as  if  to  take  the  arm 
lie  offered. 

But  Willard  Drummond  intercepted  the  movement,  and 
drew  her  arm  within  his  ovs^n,  saying,  with  a  fierce, 
threatening  glance  toward  the  sheriff  : 

"I  will  attend  you,  Sybil!  I  alone  have  the  right! 
Lead  on,  sir" — to  the  sheriff — "  we  attend  your  pleasure. 
No  one  on  earth  shall  separate  me  from  my  bride  !  " 

'^  Mr.  Drummond,  the — the-' -ceremony  was  not  finished 


840 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


iJi 


I'  > 


Hi 


.  I 


w 

1\   ■  !      M 


f: 

!  - 

., 

^        i 

i 

i: 

ll 

L. 

when  the  iiiieiTiiption  occurred,"  stiin\mcrcd  the  minister, 
looking  deeply  distressed. 

But  11  scornful  smile  was  Willard  Drununond's  sole 
reply,  as  he  clasped  the  arm  he  held  closer  with  his  own. 

"  I,  too,  will  go  !"  cried  Captain  Campbell.  "  Sheriff 
Lawless,  you/  strict  sense  of  duty  will  not,  I  trust,  pre- 
vent your  allowing  niu  to  accomi)any  my  sister  to  the 
countv  jtiil  I'' 

'*  Ca})(ain  Campbell  is  quite  welcome  to  a  seat  in  my 
carriage,"  said  the  otlicer  of  the  law,  with  a  grave  bow, 
and  without  heeding  his  bitter  sneer. 

''Farewell,  Mrs.  Bnintwell — my  more  than  mother; 
farewell,"  said  Sybil,  as  the  whole  party,  preceded  by  tlio 
sherilf,  advanced  down  the  aisle. 

]\Irs.  Brant  well  strove  to  reply,  but  her  voice  Avas 
choked.  Taking  her  husband's  iirm,  she  followed  them 
out. 

The  whole  assembly  arose  en  nnisse,  and  started  for 
the  door,  casting  threatening  looks  toward  the  sherilT,  as 
though  half  meditating  a  rescue  on  the  spot. 

A  plain,  dark-looking  coach,  with  a  mounted  police- 
man on  either  side,  stood  near  the  gate. 

The  sheritf  paused  when  he  reached  it,  and  signified 
tliat  they  were  to  enter.  Mr.  Drummoml  handed  Sybil 
in  and  took  his  seat  beside  her  ;  Captain  Campbell,  with 
astern,  gloomy  look,  followed,  and  then  the  sheriff 
sprang  in,  closed  the  door,  and  gave  the  order  to  drive 
on.  Svbil  bent  from  the  carriage  window  to  wave  a  last 
adieu  to  Mrs.  Brantwell  ;  and  the  crowd  standing  on  the 
church  steps  and  in  the  yard  caught  ;i  momentary  glimpse 
of  her  pale,  beautiful  face,  with  its  sad,  twilight  smile — 
her  dark,  proud  eyes,  more  scornful  than  ever  in  their 
humiliation.  That  haunting  face,  so  perfectly  colorless, 
with  its  bright,  jetty  ringlets,  its  floating  mist-like  veil, 
its  ovange  blossoms — could  it  be  the  face  of  a  murder- 
ess ? 

The  next  moment  she  fell  back,  the  blinds  were  closed, 
the  driver  cracked  his  whip,  the  policemen  put  spurs  to 
their  horses,  and  the  sad  cavalcade  moved  rapidly  away. 

Hushed  into  the  silence  of  death,  the  crowd  stood  breath- 
lessly gazing  after  it,  until  the  last  sound  of  the  carriage 
wheels  had  died  away — the  last  cloud  of  dust  raised  by 
the  horses'  fee^  vanished.     Then,  pale  and  awestruck,  they 


THE  DEVOTIOX  OF  LOVE. 


241 


4 


il, 

I"!'- 

Ito 


jy 


tirew  a  deep  breath  aiul  looked  with  tearful  eyes  into  each 
other's  pale  faces,  wondering  if  it  were  not  all  a  dream. 

Whis}KM"ing  in  low,  hushed  tones  beiuiath  their  breath, 
they  broke  up  and  wended  tlicir  way  to  their  respective 
lionies  ;  and  in  half  an  hour,  the  church  was  as  still,  silent 
and  deserted  as  the  totnb. 

Like  wiUl  lire  .spre;id  the  news  ;  and  before  night,  it  was 
not  only  known  to  all  the  counti'v  round,  but  for  inanv  a 
mile  distant.  The  whole  community  was  electrified  by  a 
catastrophe  so  unheard  of.  Children  (piit  their  ])lay, 
women  their  work,  lovers  their  whispers,  and  laborers  their 
daily  toil,  to  talk  over  the  astounding  arrest.  The  wealth, 
the  respectability,  the  youth,  the  beauty,  the  sex,  the  well- 
known  arrogance  and  pride  of  the  race  from  whitdi  the 
accused  had  (•-prung,  all  tended  to  heighten  and  dee])eu 
the  breathless  interest.  And  the  time  and  place — the  oc- 
cjision  of  occasions,  on  which  the  arrest  had  taken  place — 
that,  more  than  all,  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through  every 
heart.  Each  circumstance  of  the  interview  in  the  church 
was  exaggerated,  and  people  listened  and  swallowed  every- 
thing with  avidity. 

Jn  the  parsonage,  meantime,  a  cloud  of  the  deepest 
gloom  had  settled  over  its  lately  joyous  innnites. 

Mr.  and  ]\[rs.  J^rantwell,  with  the  tlree  bridesnniids  and 
Will  Stafford,  had  immediately,  upon  the  de})arture  of 
Svbil,  entered  their  carriage  and  driven  to  the  minister  s 
house. 

And  the  bridesnniids,  in  great  agitation,  not  to  say  deep 
disappointment,  at  losing  the  ball  in  tlie  evening,  had 
dressed  themselves,  and  gone  immediately  home. 

Mrs.  Brantwell  sat  weeping  in  a  perfect  abandon  of 
grief,  in  the  ])arlor  below,  ami  would  not  be  comforted. 
Mr.  Brantwell  and  Mr.  iStalTord,  themselves  in  deepest 
distress,  strove  in  vain  to  console  her. 

Poor  Will  Stafford  !  it  was  not  without  a  struffiile  he 
had  seen  Sybil  given  up  to  another  ;  but  hiding  the  sharp, 
dreary  pain  at  his  heart  under  a  gay  exterior,  he  had  reso- 
lutely determined  to  be  gay,  and  conquer  his  ill-starred 
passion.  From  the  first  moment  he  had  seen  Wilhird 
Drummond,  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  he  had  beheld 
him  somewhere  before  was  ever  upon  him.  lie  thought 
of  the  secret  nuirriage  he  had  long  ago  belield,  and  he 
thought   Mr,   Drummond    looked    suspiciously    like   the 


M\ 


If  i  i 


I). 


IH- 


ihl 


f 


242 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


bridegroom  on  that  occasion  ;  but  he  *^  pooh-poohed  "  the 
notion  as  preposterous,  and  strove  to  forget  it.  It  was 
nearly  dark  when  he  had  beheld  that  "  runaway  pair/'  as 
lie  called  tlieni  ;  and  he  could  not  distinctly  see  the  face 
of  tlie  nnm — their  general  appearance  was  alilvc,  but  not 
sufficiently  so  to  warrant  his  speaking  on  the  subject ;  and, 
of  course,  it  could  not  have  been  Mr.  IJrumniond,  the  be- 
trothed of  Sybil  Campbell.  So  he  had  hitherto  scouted 
tlie  idea  until  he  had  nearly  forgotten  it ;  but  now,  strange 
to  say,  it  came  back  to  him  more  vividly  than  over. 

While  many  suspicious  thoughts  of  VViUard  Drummond, 
but  not  one  of  Sybil,  were  passing  through  his  mind, 
Mrs.  lirantwell  was  still  sobbing  on  the  sofa,  in  passionate 
grief. 

'^Now,  really,  Harriet,  tliis  is  wrong — tliis  is  sinful. 
You  know,"  said  Mr.  Brantwell,  fidgeting,  uneasily, 
*'  such  violent  grief  is  forbidden.  ^Ye  sliould  be  resigned 
to  the  dispensations  of  Providence,  no  matter  in  what 
sliape  they  come." 

**  Oh,  Mr.  Brantwell,  go  away  !  I  don't  believe  this  is 
a  dispensation  of  Providence  ;  it's  all  tlie  villainy  of  that 
miserable  wretch,  Courtney.  And  to  think  we  should 
have  kept  him  here,  too.  Oh,  Sybil  !  Sybil  ! "  concluded 
Mrs.  Brantwell,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  grief. 

"  My  dear  madam,  let  us  hope  for  the  best.  This  ab- 
surd, this  monstrous,  this  horrible  charge  will  soon  be 
explained,  and  Sybil  set  at  liberty,"  said  Stafford,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"Oh,  I  know  all  that — I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt 
but  she  will  be  discharged,  soon — heaven  forbid  !  But 
think  of  tlie  horrible  injustice  of  this  deed  !  that  she,  my 
beautiful,  high-minded,  proud-spirited  Sybil,  should  ever 
set  foot  within  a  prison  cell,  much  less  be  brought  there 
as  a  prisoner — and  on  her  wedding-day,  too.  Oh,  it  is 
cruel  I  it  is  most  unjust.  I  have  no  words  to  express  the 
unspeakable  wrong  it  inflicts  upon  her.  That  her  name 
should  be  bandied  on  every  tong'ue —should  be  proclaimed 
as  a  felon's  in  all  the  papers — should  be  the  to})ic  of  every 
tavern  far  and  near.  Oh,  heaven  I  why  is  this  monstrous 
injustice  permitted  ? ''  cried  ]\Irs.  Brantwell,  in  still  in- 
creasing sorrow  and  indignation. 

"  Now,  really,  Mrs.  Brantwell,"  began  the  more  mod- 
erate spouse. 


' 


•i 


THE  DEVOTION  OF  LOVE. 


243 


the 


Lod- 


*' Mr.  Brantwell/'  sobbed  his  wife,  looking  indignantly 
?.t  him  through  her  tears,  ^^  if  you  can  stand  there,  look- 
ing so  cool  and  unmoved,  it's  no  reason  why  others  should 
be  equally  heartless.  Oh,  Mr.  StaiTord  I  won't  you  ride 
to  AVestport  and  learn  the  issue  of  this  arrest,  or  I  shall 
die  of  suspense  ?  ^^ 

*"'  Most  certaiidy,  madam  ;  I  shall  go  immediately,"  stud 
Stafford,  standing  up.  "•' 1  was  about  to  propose  it  myself 
when  you  spoke." 

"You  will  return  as  soon  as  pos>;ible  ?  "  called  Mrs. 
Brantwull,  after  him,  as  he  left  tlie  room. 

"  I  shall  not  lose  a  moment,"  said  the  young  man,  as  he 
ran  down-stairs,  sprang  on  his  horse,  and  dashed  furiously 
toward  the  town. 

As  it  was  impossible,  with  the  utmost  expedition,  for 
him  to  return  before  the  next  day,  Mrs.  Brant  well  pr(»- 
pared  hei'self  for  a  night  of  lingering  torture — the  torture 
of  suspense.  To  the  anxious,  affectionate  heart  of  the 
good  old  lady,  that  long,  sleepless  night  seemed  endless ; 
and  she  hailed  the  sunlight  of  the  next  morning  with  joy 
as  the  precursor  of  news  from  Sybil. 

As  the  morning  passed  away,  this  anxiety  and  suspense 
grew  almost  unendurable.  Unable  to  sit  down  for  one 
moment,  iMrs.  Brantwell  paced  up  and  down,  wringing 
her  hands  and  twisting  her  fingers,  ami  looking  every  other 
moment  down  the  road  whence  Stafford  must  come. 

But  with  all  her  anxious  watching  the  hours  passed  on  ; 
and  it  was  almost  noon  before  the  welcome  sound  of  a 
rapid  gallop  met  her  ears  and  brought  ];er,  eager,  ]);dpita- 
ting  and  trembling,  to  the  door.  Yes,  it  was  Stafford,  but 
the  hope  that  had  sprung  up  in  her  breast  died  away  at 
sight  of  his  face.  His  horse  was  reeking  witli  foam  and 
sweat,  his  clothes  were  disordered  and  travel-stained,  his 
hair  disheveled,  his  face  pale  and  haggard,  as  if  from 
sleeplessness  and  sorrow,  and  his  eyes  gloomy  and  excited. 

**  Oh,  ^[r.  Stafford  !  what  news  of  Sybil  ?  "  gasped  ^Irs. 
Brantwell,  faintly. 

'*  Oh,  it  is  just  as  I  feared  it  Avould  be  !  Sybil  is  fully 
committed  for  trial,''  said  Stafford,  leaping  off  his  horse, 
and  entering  the  parlor,  excitedly. 

Mrs.  Braiitwell,  faint  and  sick,  dropped  into  a  chair, 
and  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands,  unable  to  speak  ;  and 
her  husband  look  up  the  inquiry  : 


iM 


21i 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"  TTfivo  you  seen  Sybil  ?  '' 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  saw  her  in  her  prison  cell,  behiiul  an  iron 
gratin<^,  as  if  she  were  some  undoubted  criminal,"  replied 
Stail'ord,  bitterly. 

"  How  does  sl.e  bear  this  blow  ?" 

*'  Oh,  when  one  is  talkinii^  to  her  shciscjilni  and  proud, 
and  scornful  enough  ;  but  as  slie  lil'ted  her  head  when  1 
lirst  went  in  there  was  sucli  fixed,  utter  nnguisli  and  de- 
spair  in  her  eyes  tliat  I  hope   I  may  never  see  the  like 


again. 


» 


"  Poor  Sybil  !  when  does  this  trial  take  place  ? 

'*  Xcxt  week.  It  seems  there  are  Jiot  manv  cases  occu- 
j)ying  the  court  now,  and  hers  occurs  among  the  first,  at 
the  sj)ecial  request  of  her  friends.'' 

''  Have  they  engaged  counsel  ?" 

*'  Yes  ;  Mr.  P ,  the  best  lawyer  in  the  state." 

"^  And  her  brother  and  Hrumniond,  how  do  they  bear 
this?" 

"'  Oh,  Captain  Campbell  swears  and  threatens  and  looks 
iibout  as  much  like  a  maniac  as  anyone  I  ever  want  to  see. 
^Ir.  Urummond  is  calm;  but  tliere  is  something  in  his 
very  calmness  more  indicative  of  grief  than  all  Guy's  vio- 
lent sorrow.  They  have  engaged  lodgings  at  Westport, 
and  will  remain  there  until  after  the  trial." 

'"  Is  there  any  doubt,  any  fear,  about  the  issue  ?  " 

^^None  in  the  least  ;  there  cannot  be,  you  know.  It  is 
impossible,  utterly  impossible,  there  can  be  an  instant's 
doubt  about  her  acquittal.  The  trial,  therefore,  will  be 
nothing  but  a  serious  farce  ;  but  it  is  the  infernal  injustice, 
begging  your  reverence's  pardon,  of  making  Sybil  Camp- 
bell a  j)rincipal  actor  in  it,  to  stand  before  tlie  gaze  of 
hundreds  in  the  prisoner's  dock,  that  is  so  inhuman.  Oh, 
there  does  not,  there  cannot,  exist  a  human  being  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  so  lost  to  reason  as  to  believe  she  could 
be  ouiltv  of  such  a  crime." 

"  On  what  day  next  week  does  the  trial  take  place  ? 
asked  Mr.  Brant  well. 

**  It  opens  next  Tuesday,  I  believe.  And  Mrs.  Brant 
■well,  I  have  heard  you  are  to  be  subpoenaed  as  a  witness 

"  Oh,  I  would  have  gone  in  any  case,"  said  ^Irs.  Brant- 
well,  faintly.  "^My  poor  Sybil  ! "  and  with  another  burst 
of  tears  her  liead  fell  on  the  tal)le  again. 

**  Eeally,  Mrs.  Brantwell,  you  will  make  yourself  ill  by 


}} 


if 


■f ' 


SYBIL'S  DOOM. 


)f 


245 


tliis  foolish  indulgence  of  grief/'  said  her  husband,  un- 
easily. 

''And  there  is  no  real  necessity  for  it,  "said  Stafford, 
feeling  it  his  duty  to  say  sornetiiing  consoling.  ''Sybil 
will  most  certair.ly  bo  acquitted. 

*'0h,  don't  talk  to  nie,  either  of  von,"  said  Mrs.  Brant- 
well,  petulantly.  *'  You  are  nienrand  can't  understand 
how  this  will  darken  all  Sybil's  future  life.  I  feel— I 
know  she  will  never  recover  from  it." 

There  was  an  embarrassed  pause,  and  then  >[r.  Brant- 
well  said  : 

'*  1  will  go  to  Westport  the  day  before  the  trial  comes 
on,  and  stay  there  until  Sybil  is  discharged,  ])oor  girl  I  I 
suppose  she  and  Mv.  Drummond  will  immediately  sail  for 
Europe  until  this  unhap])y  affair  is  forgotten." 

".^lost  likely.      Ajid  now  1  must  bid    vou   both  good 


morn  m IT  ' 


J'  Why  I    will  you  not  wait  for  dinner  ?    Where  are  vou 


goniir 


'J  " 


To  Westport.  Not  to  leave  it  again  nntil  this  miser- 
able trial  i.^.  over.  (Jood-by."  And  Stafford  hurried  from 
the  house,  and  mounting  his  still  reeking  horse,  rodo 
rapidly  away. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

sybil's  doom. 

"  Great  God  !  how  could  tliv  vpiig^'ance  light 
Ko  bitterly  on  one  so  brit^iit  V 
How  coidd  tiie  hand  f  luit  ^five  such  charms, 
Blast  them  again  in  Love's  own  arms  !  ' 

—Moore. 

As  Stafford  had  said,  a  subpoena  was  served  on  llvs. 
Brantwell,  to  be  present  at  the  great,  trial  about  which 
everybody  was  talking.  'JMiat  good  ladv,  who  had  deter- 
mined already  to  go,  regarded  it  as  a  "mere  useless  cere- 
mony ;  but  Fate  seemed  determined  to  deprive  her  of  that 
melancholy  consolation,  for  two  davs  l)ef()re  the  eventful 
one  on  which  the  trial  was  to  take  place  poor  Mrs.  Brant- 
well, worn  out  by  excitement  and  constant  weepinu-,  was 
seized  with  such  a  violent  sick  headache,  that  she  was 
utterly  unable  to  leave  her  ])ed.  In  v:iin,  when  the  day 
*' big  with  fate"  came,  did  she  attempt  to  rise  ;  at  the 


fl  1,1 

19  '] 


1 

M] 

1 , 

!  i 

'■ 

1 

im;^ 


246 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


very  first  effort  she  yvas  seized  with  siicli  a  deadly  faint- 
iiess — siicli  a  l)Iindiiig  giddiness,  that  she  was  instantly 
forced  to  go  to  bed  again.  And  there,  half  delirious,  with 
lier  head  throbbing  and  beating  like  mad,  prostrated  in 
mind  and  body,  she  was  forced  to  lie,  wliile  her  physician 
wrote  a  certilicate  oi:  her  inability  to  attend,  wiiich  Mr. 
]5rantwell  was  to  convey  to  Westport. 

How  that  day  passed,  and  tlie  next,  and  the  next,  Mrs. 
Brantwell  never  knew.  Lying  in  her  darkened  chamber, 
with  bandages  wet  with  vinegar  bound  around  her  burn- 
ing forehead,  Avith  servants  tiptoeing  in  and  out,  and 
speaking  in  hushed  whispers,  the  time  passed  as  it  does  in 
a  dream.  With  her  mind  as  well  as  her  body  utter'y  pros- 
trate, she  Avas  spared  the  suspense  concerning  the  position 
of  Sybil  she  must  otherwise  have  suffered. 

But  on  the  fourth  day,  Saturday,  though  Aveak  and 
languid,  she  Avas  able  to  rise,  and — with  the  assistajice  of 
Jenny — descended  to  the  parlor,  Avhere,  smothered  in 
shawls,  she  lay  rocking  back  and  forth  in  her  large  easy 
chair. 

And  noAV,  recovered  from  the  first  prostration  of  bodily 
illness,  she  thought  of  the  time  that  had  passed,  and  be- 
gan to  feel  all  the  tortures  of  doubt  and  agonizing  sus- 
pense again.  Sybil's  trial  must  be  over  by  this  timC;,  and 
— what  had  been  the  result  ? 

So  nnendurable  grew  this  uncertainty,  that  she  Avas 
about  to  despatch  a  messenger  to  Westport  to  learn  the 
result  of  the  trial.  Avhen  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  be- 
fore the  door  arrested  her  attcmtion,  and  the  next  instant 
the  door  Avas  thrown  open  and  Will  Stafford  stood  before 
her. 

Yes  ;  Will  Stafford  ;  but  so  changed  that  she  almost 
screamed  as  she  saAV  him.  AVorn,  haggard  and  ghastly  ; 
with  co7iviilsed  brow,  Avhite  lips,  and  despairitig  eyes  ; 
Avith  such  a  look  of  passionate  grief,  anguish  and  tlespair, 
that  the  scream  was  frozen  on  her  lij)s  ;  and,  Avhite,  rigid 
and  speechless,  she  stood  stariiig,  unable  to  utter  a  Avord. 

Without  s]>eaking,  almost  Avithout  looking  at  her,  he 
thrcAv  him3elf  into  a  chair,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

Oh  !  wind  menTit  that  look,  that  action,  that  ominous 
silence  ?  For  one  moment  the  sight  seemed  leaving  Mrs. 
Brautwell's  eyes — the  poAver  of  life  seemed  dying  out  iu 


SYBIL'S  DOOM. 


247 


her  heart  ;  bni  hy  n,  mighty  efTort  of  lier  will  slie  resisted 
the  deadly  fiiintness  tiiat  was  creeping  over  her,  and 
asked,  in  a  voice  so  low  and  tremulous  that  it  was  almost 
inaudible  : 

^'Wiiat  of  Sybil?" 

A  groan  that  seemed  to  rend  the  heart  from  which  it 
came,  burst  from  the  lips  of  StafVord. 

''What  of  Syljil  ? ''  repeated  Mrs.  P)rantwell,  breathing 
hard  in  her  elTort  to  be  cahn. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  r>rantwell,  do  not  ask  !"  exclaimed  Stafford, 
in  a  stifliiH^  voice. 

*' Sybil!  Sybil!''  were  the  only  words  the  white, 
quivering  lips  eonld  utter. 

''Oh,  how  can  I  tell  her?"  cried  Staiford,  springing 
up  and  wildly  beginning  to  pace  the  room. 

"Sybil!  what  Of  her  ?"  wailed  Mrs.  Ih'antwell,  press- 
ing her  liands  to  her  heart. 

"  Sybil  is — oh  !  heaven  !  how  can  I  speak  the  terrible 
words?"  exclaimed  the  excited  young  man,  pacing  up 
and  down  like  one  demented. 

''Heavens! —  Will  you  tell  me  before  I  go  mad?" 
cried  Mrs.  Jirantwell,  becoming  as  much  excited  as  him- 
self. 

'•Then  listen — since  I  must  repeat  her  awful  fate — 
Sybil  lias  been  tried,  convicted  and— doomed  to  die  !" 

The  look  that  Mrs.  Brantweirs  face  wore  at  that 
moment  never  left  the  memory  of  Will  Stafford.  There 
was  a  sound  as  of  many  waters  in  her  ears,  a  sudden  dark- 
ness before  her  eyes,  her  brain  reeled,  and  her  head 
dropped  helplessly  on  the  arm  of  her  chair.  Stafford,  in 
alarm,  flow  to  the  bell  ;  but  overcoming,  with  a  mighty 
effort,  that  deadly  inclination  to  swoon,  she  lifted  up" her 
head,  and  half  raised  her  hand,  in  a  faint  motion  to  stop 
him. 

"I  want  nothing;  it  is  over,"  she  said,  tremulously. 
'^  Sit  down  before  me,  and  tell  me  all.  The  worst  is  over, 
and  I  can  hear  anything  now." 

"  Oh,  it  was  horrible  !  monstrous  !  outrageous  !  thia 
sentence!"  exclaimed  StalTord,  with  a  burst  of  passion- 
ate grief.  "1  never  dreamed  for  an  instant — never  did — 
that  she  would  l)e  condemned.  Oh,  curse  that  Courtney  ! 
Heaven's  malediction  rest  on  him,  here  and  hereafter!" 
ho  hissed  through  his  clinched  teeth. 


i 


:  '  ii 


ii^  1 1 


M' 


I'  !  I 


248 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


"  Tell  me  all  !  Oh,  tell  me  all !  "  said  Mrs.  Brantwell, 
trying  to  steady  her  trembling  voice. 

"I  wish  1  could!  I  came  for  that  purpose  ;  but  I  am 
going  mad,  I  think,"  said  .Stallord,  throwing  himself  into 
a  chair  with  sometliing  like  a  liowl  of  mingled  rage  and 
despair.  ''She  told  me  to  come  and  tell  you  ;  nothing 
else  could  have  made  mo  leave  Westport  while  she  lives." 

"Was  it  Svbil  ?" 

"Yes;  Mr.  Hrantwcll  could  not  travel  as  fast  as  I 
could,  and  will  not  be  here  till  to-morrow,  and  1 — oh  !  I 
rode  as  if  the  old  demon  was  at  my  heels  all  the  way — and 
ril  nover  rest  easy  again  till  I've  put  a  bullet  through 
Courtney's  brain  ;  for  he's  the  cause  of  it  all,  with  his 
diabolical  circumstantial  evidence."  exclaimed  Stalford, 
■with  still  increasing  vehemence. 

"  Mr.  Stafford,  do  give  me  the  particulars  I  " 

'•  You  know  the  trial  was  to  commence  on  Tuesday  ?  " 

'■-  Yes." 

"  Well,  as  soon  as  the  doors  of  the  court  house  were 
thrown  open,  the  galleries,  and  staircases,  and  every 
corner  of  the  building  was  filled  to  suffocation  by  an  eager 
crowd.  I  got  in  among  the  rest  of  the  rabble,  and  secured 
a  good  place,  where  I  could  see  and  hear  everything. 
Owing  to  some  cause  or  other,  the  people  had  to  wait  a 
good  while  ;  and  just  as  they  were  getting  clamorous  and 
impatient,  they  saw  the  carriage  making  its  way  slowly 
through  the  mass  of  people  that  lined  and  crowded  the 
streets,  unable  to  obtain  an  entrance  into  the  court  house. 
Then  every  one  was  on  tiptoe  with  expectation  to  see  the 
])risoncr,  the  fame  of  whose  wealth  and  beauty,  {ind  the 
str.mge  circumstances  attending  her  arrest,  had  hwn 
blazoned  the  whole  couiitry  round.  It  was  with  the 
greatest  difliculty  tliat  a  passiige  could  be  forced  through 
the  crowd  as  she  entered,  dressed  in  deepest  black,  closely 
veiled,  and  in  the  custody  of  the  high  sheriff.  Captain 
Campbell  ami  Drummond  followed  closely  after,  and  took 
their  places  near  her.  As  she  took  her  seat,  you  might 
have  heard  a  pin  drop,  so  ijitense  was  the  silence  ;  but 
when,  a  moment  after,  she  threw  back  her  veil,  and  her 
pale  beautiful  face,  with  its  dark,  proud,  scornful  eyes, 
that  went  wandering  for  an  instant  round,  with  contemp- 
tuous disdain  for  the  gaping  crowd,  a  low,  deep  murmur 
■of  admiration,  surprise  and  pity  passed  through  the  vastas- 


SYBIL'S  DOOM. 


249 


;» 


semblage  of  human  beings  ;    and   the  next  instant  they 
were  jn'ofounilly  still  once  more. 

"•  Tlie  jury  were  already  impaneleil,  and  the  prosidinj^ 
judge,  and  the  state  attorney,  and  Sybil's  counsel,  had 
taken  their  ])laces,  so  tlie  trial  immediately  eommeneed. 
AVhen  tlie  clerk  of  the  court  put  the  customary  cjuestioii 
— MJuilty  or  not  guilty^ — I  \vi;h  you  could  liave  seen  the 
sleniier  I'oi-m  of  Sybil  tov.vr  cdol't,  and  her  glorious  eyes 
ilash,  and  her  beautiful  lip  curl  with  scorn  and  disdain,  as 
she  answered  : 

"  Not  guilty  I  your  honor  I" 

''  There  is  no  use  in  my  telling  you  the  state  attorney's 
charge.  You'll  see  it  all  in  the  i)api'rs,  if  you  have  any 
curiosity  on  the  subject.  All  1  need  say  is,  that  it  seemeil 
to  destroy  every  favorable  impression  made  on  the  minds 
of  the  jury  by  the  youth,  beauty  and  sex  of  the  pris(»ner. 
lie  spoke  of  the  pain  it  gave  him  to  be  obliged  to  make 
this  charge  against  a  woiuan,  whose  interesting  appearance 
ho  saw  Inid  already  made  a  deep  im])ression  on  the  minds 
of  all  present ;  but  he  trusted  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury 
would  not  allow  themselves  to  be  carried  awav  by  their 
feelings,  and  that  'appearances  were  often  deceitful; 
and  lie  made  a  long  preamble  about  demons  wearing  tho 
forms  of  angels  of  light,  and  of  the  crimes  other  women, 
gentle  and  loving  before,  had  been  induced  to  commit  in 
sudden  ])aroxysms  of  jealousy — as  this  crime  had  been — 
as  he  was  prei)ared  to  prove.  He  spoke  of  numy  cases  of 
Momen — some  of  which  had  come  under  his  own  imme- 
diate knowledge — of  women  stabbing  themselves,  their 
lovers,  their  rivals,  in  fits  of  jealous  passion.  He  spoke 
of  the  well-known  iealousv  and  vindictivencss  that  has 
ever  chara(!terizcd  the  race  from  which  the  interesting 
prisoner  at  the  bar  had  sprung,  and  that  he  would  soon 
show  tluit  she  had  been  ever  noted — even  since  childho«.'d 
— for  those  same  faults.  Then  he  di'cw  a  pathetic  picture 
of  tlie  victim — her  youth,  her  gentleness,  lur  ti'usting 
simplicity — until  every  woman  i)resent  was  sohbing  as  if 
lier  heart  v/ould  break.  i>ut  when  he  concluded  by  say- 
ing that  the  murdered  girl  was  the  wife  of  the  prisoner's 
lover — married  to  him  in  secret,  as  he  won'd  shortly  })!'ove 
— a  thrill  ran  through  everv  heart." 

''  His  wife  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  lirantwell,  looking  up  in 
dismay  and  incredulity. 


'  I 


lli' 


! 

j 

t 

t 

250 


a 


THE  QUKEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 
V(s,  iVfrs.  liraiitwc'll,  liis  wife  ;  and  slio  was,  too," said 


Sfail'ord,  .sorrowfullv. 


( < 


When  \\'illard  Dniiiiinoiid — who 


all  thi.s  time  liad  been  standing  in(»tionk'.ss,  liis  liat  drawn 
over  his  hruvv — lieard  the  Avords,  ho  started,  reeled  and 
turned  as  deadly  white  as  if  ho  liad  reeoived  a  pistol  shot 
thronu-Ji  the  heart.  Svhil  lifted  her  wild,  hiack  eves,  and, 
readin;^;  in  that  look,  that  action,  the  trnth  of  the  woi'ds, 
"with  a  ion;;",  low  cry  dro|)i)ed  her  I'aee  in  her  hands,  with 
snch  a  loojv  of  utter  despair  that  eveiy  heart  stood  still. 
Captain  Campbell  spran,:,^  nj)  us  if  some  one  had  speared 
liim,  and  would  have  thi'ottled  Drummond  on  the  spot,  I 
firmlv  believe,  it  a  policeman  had  not  interfered,  and  lield 
1        "■      " 


iim  tjaclc. 


''  'i'he  first  witm^ss  called  wixs  an  old  ^Fethodist  minister, 
who  deposed  on  his  oath  that  he  had  mai'ried  Willard 
Drnmmond — whom  he  })romptly  identified — to  a,  young 
girl  called  Christina  Tomlinson,  about  a  year  and  a  half 
previously,  as  nearly  as  ho  could  then  recollect.  They 
were  married  after  night,  "without  attendants ;  and  the 
bride  seemed  very  much  frighteiu'd.  He  concluded  by 
giving  a  description  of  her — which  exactly  tallied  with 
that  of  little  Christie. 

"  Mrs.  Tom  was  then  called,  and  aflirmed  that  on  the 
"night  in  question  Christie  liad  gone  to    Westport    with 
Drummond,   and   when   they  returned   late   at  night,  she 
found  her  niece  lying  senseless  in  his  arms,  which  circum- 
stance he  accounted  for  by  some  plausible  reason  she  luid 
now  forgotten.     Ikdiig  cross-examined,  she   afllrmed  that 
tic  deceased  and  the  "voung  man  Drummond  were  ahvavs 
together,  after  the  prisoner  left  the  island  ;  and  she,  Mrs. 
Tom,  not  liking  their  intimacy,  had  endeavored  to  i»ut  a 
stop  to  it.  but  in  vain.     She  could  not  swear   jiositively 
that  her  niece  and   ]\Iiss  Campbell    were  bad   friends,  but 
she  did  not  think  they  were  on   good  terms,  and  her  prin- 
cipal reason  for  ending  the  intimacy  between  the  deceased 
and  ^fr.    Drummond   had  been  the  fear  of  the  prisoner's 
ano-or  —  which  she  knew,  v/hen  excited,  was  extremely  vio- 
lent.      That  on  the  night  of  the   murder  the  deceased  had 
appeared  out  of  spirits  and,    complaining   of  a  headache, 
had  retired  early.     That   when  she  awoke   in  the  morning 
she  found  her  gone  and  the  house  door  open,  things  which 
had  never  happened  before.      Tliat  she  had   no  suspicion 
of  the   truth  until  Miss  Campbell  came  in  and  told  her 


it 


SYBIL'S  DOOM. 


251 


lier  niece  was  murdered.  Tli;it  thereupon  tliey  luid  gone 
down  to  the  beueli  to^a'tlier,  and  she  hm  identilied  u  liand- 
kendiief  ljeh)Jiging  to  her  niecu',  niarked  with  lier  naiin!, 
deeply  clotted  with  blood.  IMiat  the  prisom-r — who  !iad 
never  hithtsrto  appeared  to  care  I'or  Ciiristie — seeinccl 
deeply,  almost  wildly,  agitated  that  morning,  which  luul 
surprised  her  (the  witness)  not  a  little  at  the  time. 

"  Mrs.  Tom  was  then  dismissed,  and  Ca[)laiii  Campbell 
was  called  to  take  the  stand.  A  low  murmur  of  sympathy 
ran  around  as  thoy  observed  his  pale  and  haggard  face; 
and  all  listened  with  breathless  iiiterc'st  to  the  testimony 
he  reluctantly  gave.  He  said  that  on  the  evening  of  the 
murder,  being  on  tiie  island,  Christie  had  ap})roached  him 
and  given  him  a  note,  which  she  directed  liim  to  give  his 
sister.  That  he  had  done  so  ;  and  that  Sybil  liad  ai)})('ar('d 
violently  agitated  upon  receiving  it,  and  impetuously  in- 
sisted upon  going  to  the  island  that  night.  That  he  had 
u.  ged  her  not  to  go,  but  she  had  insisteil  ;  and  upon  telling 
her  Carl  Henley  was  going  over  that  evening,  she  had  said 
she  would  accomj)any  him  ;  and  he  had  then  left  the  room, 
and  he  did  not  see  her  again  for  upward  of  a  fortnight. 

"  Carl  Henley  next  took  the  stand,  and  after  the  usual 
oath,  stated  that  on  the  evening  of  the  murder  he  had 
taken  Syl)il  across  to  the  island.  That  in  the  boat  she  had 
talked  wildly,  though  he  could  not  recolle(!t  what  she  had 
said.  That  she  had  left  him  when  they  reacdied  the  shoi'c, 
and  had  run  up  the  rocks  through  the  storm,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Lodge.  That  he  had  returned  to  the  cottnge 
and  shortly  after  went  to  bed,  leavinii'  '  Aunt  Tom,'  iis  lie 
called  her,  and  Christie  down-stairs.  Tliatal)out  midnisilit, 
hcing  awakened  by  the  violence  of  the  storm,  he  hail  got 
up  and  distinctly  hoard  a  cry  of  '  Murder  I  '  though 
whether  it  was  in  Christie's  voice  or  not,  he  could  not 
say.  That  a  moment  after,  by  the  light  of  a  fl;ish  of 
lightning,  he  had  seen  a  woman  flying  past,  M-ith  long, 
black  hair  streaming  behind  her,  'j*'st  like  her,'  he  ex- 
pressed himself,  pointing  to  Sybil,  lieing  cross-examined, 
he  swore  positively  to  seeing  the  woman,  whom  he  said  he 
took,  at  the  time,  to  be  Sybil  ;  and  nothing  her  counsel 
could  say  could  weaken  his  testimony  in  the  least. 

'*  There  were  several  other  witnesses  examined;  but 
though  I  have  forgotten  their  testimony,  it  all  weiit  to 
prove  that   Christie  was  beloved  by  everybody  who  knew 


|! 


tllii' 


J: 

1 

[: 

i 

1;            : 

252 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


lier  but  Sybil  ;  Ibiit  slio  hud  not  nn  enemy  in  tlic  world 
but  Sybil.  Anion^  others,  came  tluit  infernid  Courtney, 
who  swore  positively  tiuit  he  knew  Sybil  to  be  jealous  of 
Christie  ;  und  in  proof  of  which,  adduced  several  (drcum- 
stanccs  that  seemed  to  have  a  ^reatdeal  of  weight  with  the 
bench  ;  that  Sybil's  aj^itation  upon  receivin<,^  Christie's 
note  was  so  pali>able  that  lu^  began  to  have  misgivings  on 
the  spot  ;  tliat  when  he  beheld  her,  the  following  day, 
after  coming  from  the  island,  she  seemed  like  one  deprived 
of  reason,  as  if  '  remorse  for  some  umicted  crin'c  '  preyed 
u])on  her.  Oh  !  1  could  liave  strangled  the  wliite-Iivt;red 
villain  on  the  spot,''  said  Stafford,  grinding  nis  teeth. 
*'  Thon  the  Coui't  was  adjourned  until  the  following  day, 
und  the  prisoner  removed. 

''Next  day  it  was  the  same.  There  was  little  new  evi- 
dence against  Sybil  ;  but  it  seemed  clear  to  all  that  the 
jury  had  already  made  up  their  minds  as  to  her  guilt  ;and 
that  her  youth  and  beauty  only  seemed  to  aggravate  her 
crime. 

*'  Then  the  defense  was  taken  up  ;  and  ^Ir.  P made 

a  very  good  s])eech,  and  did  all  he  could  to  disabuse  the 
minds  of  tlie  jury  ;  but  it  was  like  beating  the  air,  or  '  con- 
vincing men  against  their  will,'  they  were  clearly  of  their 
opinion  still,  when  he  ceased.  He  did  all  he  could,  but 
that  was  too  little  to  save  Sybil. 

'*  The  state  attorney  rose  again,  and  set  aside  all  P 's 

arguments,  in  a  cool,  contemptuous  manner  that  carried 
conviction  to  the  minds  of  the  s})ectators.  And  then  the 
judge  arose  to  sum  up  the  evidence  and  charge  the  jury. 
In  his  mind  there  seemed  not  the  faintest  shadow  oi  a 
doubt  as  to  tlie  gijilt  of  the  prisoner.  I  cannot  remember 
what  he  said,  but  I  know,  despite  Ids  gray  hairs,  I  felt  a 
demoniacal  desire  to  knock  him  down  all  the  time  he  was 
speaking.  Then  the  jury  started  to  deliberate,  and  dur- 
ing their  brief  absence  the  silence  of  death  reigned  in  that 
court  room.  Every  eye  was  bent  upon  Sybil  ;  but  after 
hearing  of  Willard's  marriage,  she  never  lifted  her  head. 
It  was  as  if  the  heaviest  blow  tiiat  could  possibly  befall  her 
had  passed,  and  life  or  death  mattered  nothing  to  her  now. 

"  The  iurv  were  not  absent  ten  minutes  ere  tliev  re- 
turned.  This  sudden  entrance  was  ominous  ;  but  their 
grave,  stern  faces  were  more  ominous  still.  I  had  to  grasp 
the  arm  of  a  man  beside  whom  I  stood  ;  for  I  felt  myself 


ir 


I 


SYHIL'S  DOOM. 


253 


trembling   in  every   liiiil).     The    foreman  rose  slniullaiu!- 
ously  with  the  others,  aiul  every  breuth  seemed  suspended. 

"  *  (rentlemen  of  the  jiu"y,  iuive  you  ai;reed  upon  your 
verdiet  ?  '  asked  the  viMU'rable  judj^e. 

"  '  We  Inive,  your  iioiior,'  responded  the  foreman. 

*'MIo\v  say  you  then?  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  l)ar  <;uiUy 
or  not  guilty  of  the  crime  with  which  she  is  cdiarged  ? ' 

"  *  Ciuilty  !*  was  the  awful  response. 

'*  At  that  word  there  aros(»  a  <'ry  that  thrilled  througii 
every  heart  ;  and  Willard  Drumnioiul,  like  a  man  possessed 
of  a  demon,  ile(l  from  the  house,  while  thea})palhMl  cj'owd 
fell  back  in  turn  before  him.  A  dreadful  silence  followed, 
and  then  the  judge  arose,  and  in  a  voice  that  trembled  in 
si)ito  of  himself,  said  : 

'^ '  Prisoner,  arise,  aiul  receive  the  sentence  of  tlie  law.' 

'' Kvery  breath  was  suspeiuled,  every  voice  was  hushed, 
but  the  prisoner  neither  moved  nor  stirred.  She  seemed 
frozen  into  the  attitude  in  which  she  had  fallen  ut  the 
news  of  Willard  Drummond's  perfidy. 

'"  Mr.  BrivUtwell,  who  wa.j  standing  near,  with  a  face 
pule  with  deepest  pity,  touched  her  on  the  shoulder,  and 
said,  in  a  faltering  voice  : 

"  '  Sybil,  my  dearest  girl,  arise  ;  let  me  assist  you.' 

*'IIe  took  her  ai-m  and  supported  her  to  her  feet  ;  but 
when  she  lifted  her  head,  all  beheld  a  face  so  cold,  so 
"white,  so  rigid,  with  such  frozen  eyes  and  colorless  li}>s, 
such  an  awful  look  of  woman's  dee})est  woe,  that  evei-y 
face  grew  pale,  and  every  eye  blinded  with  tears.  As  for 
me,  I  felt  as  if  1  were  going  mad.  I  heard  the  judge  say 
something — to  save  mv  soul  1  could  not  tell  what,  until 
the  last  awful  words  met  my  ear  : 

'' '  Prisoner,  the  sentence  of  the  court  is,  that  you  be 
taken  hence  to  the  prison  from  whence  you  came,  and 
from  thence  to  the  i)lace  of  execution,  and  that  there  you 
be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  ai-e  dead.' 

^'  I  could  listen  no  longer.  How  I  burst  from  the 
crowd,  I  know  not,  but  I  reached  the  open  air,  frantic, 
almost  Tuaddened.  The  crowd  poured  out  after  me,  and 
presently  the  prisoner  apj)eared  between  your  husband, 
her  brother  and  the  sherilf. 

^•^  I  saw  no  one  but  Sybil.  Her  face  wore  the  same 
fixed,  stony  look  it  had  done  when  she  arose — not  a  muscle 
had  quivered.     It  was  evident  she  heard  not,  cared  not  for 


.  I 


I ' 


II! 


op;. 


u 


Till-:  grKK-\  ok  tuk  isiJ']. 


Iho  nwfnl  doom  aliout  to  l»(^f;ill  iior.  1  hi'okc  througli  tho 
crowd  liko  ;i  luiidnian,  until  1  stood  bcrorif  Iicm*. 

-  .  Sybil— Syl)ii  !'  1  oricd  out. 

"  SoiMOt  iiiii^-  ill  Miy  loiK^  ;in"('si(>d  her,  luul  slio  look(>(l 
VKcantly  at  mv.  She  jtassed  her  hand  across  her  J'orcdicad, 
:;s  if  to  oloar  away  a  mist,  and  then  said.,  iii  a  low,  dreamy 
liMio  : 

"  '  .\h.  Mr.  SlatTord  —  1  have  a  r('(|uost  to  make  of  you.' 

*'  '  What  is  it  ?'  1  askod,  scarcely  al>lc  to  speak. 

'' '  Hasten  to  my  dear  I'riend,  Mrs.  jiraiit  well,  ;ind  tell 
her  what  has  hapixMieil  ;  but  tell  iier  not  to  be  sorry  for 
me,  for  it  is  b(.'tter  as  it  is.  (iny,  I  am  tired  ;  take  mo 
11  way.' 

'•  She  said  all  this  in  ;i  stranii:(\  weary  tone,  like  one 
M'lio  is  bewildered.  1  saw  them  help  h.er  into  tho  coaeh — ■ 
saw  it  driven  away — and  then  I  went  to  tho  liotel,  feeling 
— well,  it's  no  use  tryinix  uow  to  t(dl  you  how  I  felt.  Ijoni; 
before  daylight  this  morning,  1  startled  to  come  here — iind 
that  is  iili. " 


CILVPTKR  XX XT.  ' 


k 


H 


m 


*  t 


■  '  I 


THE    HANKIUTT    HKAUT. 

*'  Oh  brealc,  broalc,  hn>al<  :  poor  bankrupt,  break  at  once, 
To  prison,  soul  :     Ne\'r  hopo  for  lilx-rty  !  "" 


-toilAKESPKAlUS. 


"  Kvory  sense 
Had  been  outstrun^;  by  i)aiij;s  intejise, 
Aiiil  Oiwh  I' rail  lihre  of  lu'r  brain — 
As  bow  strin.cs  w  ht>n  releasi>(!  by  rain, 
Th'^  (MM'iiiLr  arrows  launcli  asi(l(>  — 
Sent  forth  her  thoufxhts  all  wild  and  wide." 

— Bytion. 

Thkhh  was  a  long  pause.  Then  Mrs.  Brantwell  raised 
lier  lu>ad,  ;'nd  asked  : 

"  When  do  you  return  to  Westport  ?  '■' 

'*  I  cannot  go  before  to-morrow.  My  liorse  is  unable 
for  the  iouriiev. " 

''  Then  I  will  accompany  you." 

"  l)Ut,  my  dear  madam '" 

''  Mr.  StalTord,  not  a  w(n'(l.     I  will  go  ! '' 

She  spoke  in  u  tone  there  was  no  disobeying  ;  so  Stafford 
was  forced  to  assent  by  an  uneasy  bow.     And  Mrs.  Brant- 


e 


! 


THE  BAXKKUPT  IIKAUT. 


\ 


well  U'ft  tlio  room  uiid  sou^lil  her  own  upartniont.  'I'lio 
li<i;lit  brcukl'asl  next  iiioniiii.ijj  was  uiitoin'licd  by  citlitT  of 
tlu'in  ;  ami  as  soon  as  it  \v;is  over,  Mrs.  liiMiilwell  hastily 
throw  on  li(jr  honiiut  and  shawl,  and  cnlort'd  the  carria^^o 
tliiit  stood  wailin,i(  to  convey  ln;r  to  \Vrsij)(>rl. 

Some  time  hcd'orc;  tivenini;'  they  rcaidHMJ  thu  town — now 
ao  crowded  with  stran.^ers  that  it  wonld  hiivc  hceii  ini- 
possihli!  to  have  socurcd  lod^iii_i;s  had  not  C'a[)lain  C'ani|)- 
t)cll  Lciven  np  his  rooms  to  the  use  of  .Mrs.  I'rantwell  whihi 
sho  shouhl  r((nniin. 

Too  utterly  exhausted  in  her  ])resent  weak  state  to  visit 
the  prison  that  niuhl,  Mrs.  !)i'aii!-well  immecliatc^ly  retire(l 
to  lier  room,  and  desired  the  waiter  to  send  Captain 
Cani})l)eII  to  her. 

She  scarcely  i'ee()<j;iuze<l  him,  so  altered  liad  lie  beeomo 
in  those  few  days  ;  the  old  ho|)t'fu]  look  gone,  and  in  its 
2)la('e  the  c'arkest,  gloomiest  (h'spair. 

Tlie  meeting  was  a  V(!ry  sad  and  very  silent  one.  Mrs. 
l^rantwell  ])r(!ssed  the  hand  he  extende(i,  with  deepest 
])ity  and  warmest  sympalliy,  in  her  own  ;  but  saitl  nothing. 
Her  silence  was  more  elocpient  tlian  woi'ds.     At  last  : 

''When  did  you  see  Sybil  ?"  she  asked. 

''Not  since  the  day  of  the  trial,"  he  answered,  moodily. 

''  \o  !"  slu!  exclaimed,  in  surprise.      "  How  is  that  ?  '" 

"  She  would  not  see  me  ;  she  would  not  see  any  one. 
I  attended  her  to  the  c.oW,  and  thert;  ^  ;e  bade  me  go — sh(5 
■would  be  alone  ;  she  insisttMJ  on  it  ;  she  would  not  even 
see  ^Ir.  l^rantwell.  I  left  her,  and  went  the  next  day, 
and  the  Tiext  and  the  next,  but  still  the  same  answer  was 
retur!ied  ;  she  would  see  no  om\  j-'rom  the  moment  she 
had  left  the  court  liouse  she  Inid  thrown  herself  uj^on  her 
bed,  and  she  would  not  t(jueh  the  food  they  otfei'ed  her  ; 
she  would  not  s[ieak  oiu'  word,  only  rei)eating  tiuit  per- 
emptory denumd  to  be  .alone." 

'-'Mv  poor,  poor  Sybil  !  And  Mr.  Drummond,  where 
is  lie  ?■" 

"  I  know  not.  When  he  heard  the  sentence  of  the 
court,  he  s])rang  on  his  horse  and  dashed  away  like  a 
madman.  May  heaven's  heaviest  vcngeaiu-e  light  on  him 
and  that  black-hearted  ti-aitor,  Courtney  I  for  between 
them  they  have  brouglit  her  to  tliis  !  "  And  Captain 
('ampljelTs  face  grew  a])solutely  livid  with  the  storm  of 
passion  that  swept  across  it. 


I .  i 

I 


U  ] 


I 


I' 


!  : 


256 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I  feel  sure  Sybil 
You  ciiii  make 


"  My  dearest  boy,  hush  !  We  must  forgive  our  enemies, 
you  know,  if  we  expect  to  be  forgiven." 

'^Forgive  ilieni  !  Yes  !  if  1  meet  either  of  them,  FU 
send  tliem  to  anotlicr  world,  witii  a  bullet  througli  their 
brain.s,  in  search  of  forgiveness  ! "  he  fiercely  replied. 

"  01),  (juy  !  do  not  say  such  dreadful  things  !  You  do 
not  mean  it,  I  know  ;  but  it  is  wrong,  neverthless." 

lie  oidy  replied  with  a  smile — ])ut  such  a  smile — Mrs. 
Brantwell  turned  away  with  a  shudder. 

'*  To-morrow  I  will  visit  the  prison, 
will  receive  me." 

'*I  hope  so  ;  but  there  is  no  telling, 
the  eiTort,  nevertheless." 

"You  will  accomjiany  me  ?" 

''  Oh,  certjiinly  !  And  as  you  look  fatigued  now,  I  will 
leave  you  to  seek  the  necessary  repose.     Good  night." 

lie  was  gone  with  the  same  dark,  rigid  look  on  his  face 
that  made  Mrs.  Brantwell's  heart  jiche  ;  and  she  sought 
her  couch  with  a  mind  deeply  disturbed  by  the  thought 
of  to-morrow's  interview. 

Next  day,  immediately  after  her  slender  breakfast, 
Captain  Campbell  made  his  aj)pearance  in  her  room.  As 
the  prison  was  but  a  short  distance  from  the  hotel,  they 
were  to  walk  ;  and  drawing  her  arm  within  his  own. 
Captain  Campbell  set  out. 

The  streets  were  already  crowded  with  j^eople,  drawn 
hither  by  the  news  of  tiie  great  trial,  and  tletermined  to 
wait  now  to  see  the  execution.  Croups  were  assembled 
on  every  corner,  discussing  in  low  tones  the  exi)ecte(l 
event,  and  tlie  murder,  livery  eye  was  ])ent  on  Captain 
Campbell  as  he  passed  ;  some  knowing  him  to  the  brother 
of  the  condemned  ;  others  sup{)osing  him  to  be  her  false 
lover,  and  the  elderly  lady  on  his  arm,  her  mother.  These 
insolent  stares  were  met  by  such  fixed,  fierce  glances  on 
the  part  of  the  young  man  that  every  eye  fell,  and  every 
one  shrank  back  to  let  him  pass. 

They  reached  the  prison  and  were  admitted  by  the 
warden,  who  glanced  at  Captain  Campbell  in  the  deepest 
distress. 

"  We  wish  to  be  admitted  to  my  sister's  cell,  Mr.  Dent," 
said  Captain  Cam}>bell. 

*'  Yes,  sir  ;  but  if  you  please,  sir " 

** There — there!      I  know  what  you  would   say,"  im- 


ANOTHER  STORM  WITHOUT  AND  WITHIN.  257 

patiently  interrupted  the  yonng  man.  *'  But  my  sister 
will  receive  this  lady.     Lead  on,  sir." 

**  With  a  deep  sigh  of  compassion,  the  old  man  obeyed  ; 
and  they  followed  him  through  a  long  gloomy  hall,  until 
they  reached  a  door,  before  which  the  warden  paused. 

Fumbling  among  a  largo  bunch  of  keys,  he  produced 
one  which  unlocked  the  door,  and,  stepping  back,  he 
flung  it  open  and  signed  to  them  to  pass  in. 

They  did  so,  and  paused  on  tlie  thresliold.  For  there 
before  them  was  a  sight  that  struck  them  dumb — that 
sent  the  life  blood  curdling  in  horror  to  their  hearts. 

Crouching  in  a  corner,  and  glaring  upon  them  with 
her  wild,  vacant  black  eyes,  every  trace  of  color  faded 
from  her  lips,  leaving  even  the  beautiful  lips  blue  and 
livid  ;  her  long  black  hair  streaming  wildly  down  her 
back  ;  her  hands  held  out  before  her,  as  if  to  keep  them 
off,  she  sat.  WeP  might  they  stare,  while  the  very  life 
blood  froze  in  theii  hearts  ;  Sybil  Campbell,  the  bride  of 
a  moment — alone  in  her  prison  cell — had  gone  mad  I 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


ANOTHER  STORM  WITHOUT  AND  WITHIN. 


)led 

itrd 

■jiin 

lier 


}> 


— "  Let  her  rave 
And  prophesy  ten  thousand,  thousand  horrors; 
I  could  join  with  her  now.  and  bid  them  come  ; 
They  lit  tiie  present  fury  of  my  soul, 
The  stints  of  lov(»  and  ni<,'e  are  fixed  within, 
And  drive  me  on  to  madness." 

— ROWE. 

LoATHTNG  the  sunlight,  hating  himself,  frantic,  mad- 
dened, Willard  Drummond  lied  from  the  court  house,  with 
the  terrific  words  of  the  judge  searing  his  heart,  burning 
his  brain,  scathing  his  memory,  ringing  in  his  ears,  like 
the  last  awful  trump  of  the  mighty  archangel. 

AVhither  he  went,  what  became  of  him,  he  cared  not, 
knew  not.  Driving  his  spurs  into  his  horse's  flanks,  until 
the  maddened  beast  fairly  flew  over  the  ground,  he  fled 
on,  and  on,  and  on,  with  heart  on  fire,  his  head  in  a  whirl 
— feeling  as  though  a  wheel  of  flame  were  crashing 
through  it ;  knowing,  feeling,  conscious  of  but  one  thing, 
that  Sybil  was  condemned  to  die. 


'^ 


iSfm^ 


li^ 


ilfl 


258 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


And  tlirough  liim — tlirougli  his  fault  ;  that  was  ths 
tliought  tiiat  wlielrned  liis  soul  in  anguish  and  despair. 
All  his  trcacliery,  all  liis  falseliood,  all  his  duplicity  was 
known  to  her  now,  and,  dying,  she  would  loathe,  hate 
and  despise  liitn.  lie  could  liave  cursed  himself  ;  ho 
could  have  cursed  earth,  and  heaven,  and  all  mankind 
in  that  moment,  while  the  tempest  of  agony,  remorse, 
desi)air  and  anguish  was  ragiiig  in  his  soul.  Ancl 
on,  still  on,  he  flew,  unheeding  Avhither  he  went, 
until  his  exhausted  ami  panting  hoi'se  fell  helpless  be- 
neath him. 

That  was  the  first  thing  that  brought  liim  to  his  senses. 
Tie  sprang  off  the  back  oi:  tlie  foam-covered  aiul  trembling 
aninuil,  and,  conscious  that  his  headlong  speed  and  fi-enzicd 
looks  must  excite  distrust  and  su.sj)icion,  he  strove  to  calm 
himself  and  lead  his  horse  to  the  nearest  inn. 

He  lifted  his  head  to  look  about  him,  and  found  he  had 
nearly  reached  Newport.  Assisting  his  hor.-e  to  rise,  lie 
led  him  slowly  toward  an  unpretending  little  farmhouse 
that  clnmced  to  be  ne;n*,  and  knotdvcd  loudly  at  the  door. 

The  summons  v/as  answered  by  a  bov,  who  stared  at 
Willard  with  a  look  of  blank  dismay. 

"1  have  ridden  my  horse  until,  as  you  perceive,  he  is 
unable  to  iiroci'cd  any  further.  Can  he  remain  here  for 
the  night  ?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

The  sound  of  his  voice  brought  a  man  to  the  door, 
smoking  a  short,  black  pipe. 

"What  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  This  'ere  man  wants  to  know  if  his  boss  can  stay  here 
to-night,  and  be  took  care  of,^'  explained  the  lad. 

'' Sartin,  sartin,*'  responded  the  man,  heartily;  ''and 
you,  too,  sir,  if  you'll  honor  us  with  your  company. 
Johnny,  take  the  gentleman's  boss  off  to  the  barn.  Walk 
in,  sir,  walk  in  ;  you  look  quite  as  near  used  up  yourself 
as  your  beast  does.     Walk  in,  and  sit  Jown." 

Accepting  his  hospitality  with  a  brief  uod,  Willard 
followed  him  into  a  large,  clean-looking  room,  where  a 
wonnin  sat  knitting,  and  two  girls  sat  sewing. 

The  female  portion  of  the  establishment  got  up  and 
dropped  him  a  courtesy,  while  the  old  man  presented  him 
with  a  chair.  Willard  removed  his  hat  ^'rom  his  hot  and 
throbbing  brow,  and  shook  back  his  long,  dark,  cluster- 
ing locks,  while  the  girls  glanced  at  him  askance,  with 


■'■  I 


ANOTHER  STORM  WITHOUT  AND  WITHIN.   259 


ths 


he 


and 

him 

and 

ster- 

witli 


looks  of  mingled  admiration  and  fear  at  his  wild  and  ex- 
cited looks. 

'^  Come  from  the  town,  I  reckon,"  said  his  host,  draw- 
ing a  chair  opposite  Willard's,  and  resuming  his  i)ipe. 

A  hrief  '^  yes  *'  was  his  sole  reply. 

'MJreat  doings  going  on  there.  I  iicar  ;  lots  of  people 
cro\v(ling  to  it  evei'y  day." 

Another  ''yes,*'  brief  and  cold,  was  his  answer. 

Great  talk,  too,  abont  the  trial.  You've  heard  tell  of 
it,  in  course  ?  " 

Still  another  "yes,"  briefer,  sterner  and  colder  than 
before,  was  Willard's  answer  ;  but  his  talkative  host  was 
not  abashed. 

"  Very  sad  affair,  I  must  say,''  he  went  on,  sliaking  his 
head;  "  and  very  straniic  all  through.  It's  wonderful  how 
"wimmin  will  do  things  when  thoy's  in  a  passion.  They 
say  this  Miss  Campbell  went  over  jest  a-purpose  to  kill 
this  other  gal,  and  chucked  her  body  into  the  sea  when 
she  was  done," 

Here  he  waited  for  a  reply,  but  received  none;  for 
Willard,  with  his  face  shaded  by  his  hand  and  his  falling 
hair,  was  thinking,  with  a  bursting  lieart,  of  Sybil,  and 
heard  not  a  word  the  garrulous  old  man  said. 

''This]\liss  Campbell's  beau — what  she  was  going  to 
be  married  to  when  she  got  took  up — must  be  a  precious 
villain.  They  say  he  was  mnrried  to  the  other  young  gal 
on  the  sly,  and  nobody  never  knowed  nothing  about  it. 
I'd  like  to  get  my  hands  on  liim,  and  give  him  a  good 
hoss-wldpping — I  vow  I  would.  A  little  hanging  wouldn't 
hurt  him  a  mite  more'n  her  I  " 

At  this  expose  of  his  feelings,  the  worthy  old  man  again 
paused  for  a  reply  that  came  no^  ;  for  Willard  Drnmmond, 
buried  in  his  own  bitter  thoughts,  was  dead  to  all  the 
world  around. 

"Yes,  there's  a  great  crowd  going  to  town,"  resumed 
th«  old  man,  thoughtfully,  as  a  ligl.i;  wagon,  lilled  with 
peo})le,  rattled  past;  "but  it  ain't  no  circumstance  to 
what  will  go  to  see  her  hung.  I'll  go  to  see  that  myself  ; 
and  I'll  take  the  old  woman  and  the  girls,  too  ;  I've  been 
promising  them  a  treat  this  long  time.  S'po<e  you'll  be 
there,  too?"  he  added,  determined  to  get  an  answer  by 
some  means. 

But  still  his  strange  guest  maintained  his  moody  silence; 


i5r 


ii'i' 


2G0 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


.8!   ; 


and  the  old  man  gave  up  tlic  efPort  in  despair,  and  turned 
the  tide  of  liis  eloquence  upon  ''Johnny,"  who  entered  at 
this  moment,  in  numberless  inquiries  concerning  the  state 
of  tlie  "  gentlcjuan's  hoss."  The  girls  looked  at  each  other 
and  giggled,  atid  the  old  woman  peered  at  him  suspiciously 
over  lier  spcMttacles. 

A  summon.^  to  supper  was  the  first  thing  that  aroused 
him  from  his  reverie  ;  but,  with  a  head  giddy,  a  br.tin 
throbbing  with  intensity  of  tumultuous  thouglit,  the  very 
sight  of  food  was  loathsome  to  him.  Rising  to  his  feet, 
and  stjinding  witli  ditiiculty.  owing  to  his  strange  dizziness, 
he  said  : 

"As  you  kindly  invited  me  to  remain  all  night,  may  I 
ask  to  be  shown  to  my  room  ?  I  do  not  leel  quite  well, 
and  I  believe  I  will  retire." 

The  old  woman  gave  her  husband  a  warning  glance  that 
revealed  plainer  than  words  the  danger  of  having  so  sus- 
picious a  guest  in  the  house  ;  but  the  '^good,  lazy  soul," 
totally  regardless  of  it  in  his  hospitality,  exclaimed  : 

^'Sartin,  sartin,  sir;  but  won't  you  take  something 
first  ?  Susan's  tea  and  strawberry  shortcake  is  just  about 
the  tallest  sort  o'  vittals  anybody  can  eat  when  they  ain't 
well.     Do  sit  down,  sir,  and  take  a  little  snack." 

"  Not   any 
lieadache 
mediately." 

"Oh,  very  well,  then  !"  said  the  old  man,  adding  in  a 
distinct  whisper  :  "  Gals,  you'll  have  to  give  your  room  up 
to  the  gentlenum.     This  way,  sir,  if  you  please." 

Willard  followed  his  hospitable  guide  up  a  flight  of  in- 
tensely rickety  stairs,  into  a  small  and  scantily  furnished 
little  bedroom,  hung  round  with  feminine  articles  of  ap- 
parel, and  containing  a.  comfortable  bed. 

*'I  hope  you'll  sleep  well,  sir,"  said  his  host,  as  he 
ushered  him  in.  '' It's  a  poor  place  for  the  like  of  you, 
but  it's  the  best  we've  got." 

"It's  all  I  could  wish,"  said  Willard,  who  could  not 
have  told  for  the  life  of  him  whether  it  was  sumptuously 
furnished  or  otherwise.  And  then  returninof  his  host's 
good-night,  he  threw  hmiself  on  the  bed,  and  strove  to 
forget  in  sleep  the  dull,  heavy  aching  of  his  head  and 
heart. 

"  A  queer  chap,  that  1"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  slowly 


g^'QW 


thank  you,"  said    Willard,  faintly,  as   his 
more   intense.      "  I   wish  to   retire   ini- 


ANOTHER  STORM  WITHOUT  AND  WITHIN.  2G1 


US  he 

you, 


plodded  liis  way  downsiiiirs.  "  Looks  as  if  lie  had  soon 
some  trouble  lately.  V/ell,  this  world  is  full  of  trouble; 
nothing  but  trouble  for  rich  and  poor  alilvc,  and  always 
will  be  so  to  the  end,  I  do  believe."  And  with  this  hope- 
ful and  encouraging  view  of  the  world  in  general,  he 
opened  the  door  and  entered  the  bosom  of  his  family. 

"  Well,  now,  Jonatlian,"  exclaimed  his  spouse,  in  a  voice 
more  remarkable  for  shrillness  tlian  sweetness,  *'  I  wonders 
at  your  harboring  every  highwaynum  and  sulky  stranger 
you  don't  know  nothing  about  in  this  way.  IIow  do  you 
know  we  won't  get  our  throats  cut  in  cold  blood  ai'oro 
morning,  with  that  there  dark-looking,  silent  man  in  the 
liouse  ?     How  do  you  know  but  he's  a  robber  orsuthin'  ?'* 

*' I  don't  believe  he's  a  robber,"  said  Jonathan,  quietly, 
sitting  down  at  tlie  table  ;  "\\q  don't  look  like  that. 
Seems  more  like  as  if  he  had  some  heavv  trniblo  or  otlier 
a-weighing  on  his  mind.  Anyway,  you  wouldn't  have  mo 
turn  away  a  tired  critter  from  the  door,  would  you  old 
Avonian  ?" 

"  Well,  if  he  wa'n't  so  suspicious  looking,"  grumbled 
the  old  woman  ;  "■  but  for  to  go  and  sit  there  all  the  even- 
ing and  never  speak  one  word  is  a  leetle  too  much." 

'*  People  don't  talk  when  they  are  in  trouble,  I  tell 
you!"  retorted  her  spouse.  "And  now  I  think  on  it, 
perhaps  he's  some  friend  or  other,  of  that  poor  young  gal 
that's  going  to  be  hung.  I'm  sure,  if  he  is,  it's  enough  to 
make  him  silent.     Fill  my  cup,  Susan." 

"  He's  real  good-looking,  anyway,"  remarked  one  of 
the  girls,  "  with  the  loveliest  of  black  eyes." 

"  And  the  sweetest  curling  hair  !  "  said  the  other. 

"  And  the  whitest  teeth — did  you  notice?"  added  the 
first. 

''No  ;  but  I  saw  his  hands  ;  they  was  white  as  a  lady's," 
chimed  in  the  second. 

''  I  don't  believe  he's  a  bad  man,  either  ;  he  don't  look 
like  it,"  said  the  first. 

'^I  declare  to  massy  !  if  Sary  ain't  gone  and  fell  in  love 
with  him  I  "  exclaimed  Johnny,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  I  hain't  neither  !  "  said  Sary,  angrily,  with  reddening 
cheeks. 

"  Well,  there,  don't  get  a  quarreling  about  him  I  "  broke 
in  the  mother.     ''  The  man's  going  away  to-morrow  morn- 


ing ;  that's  one  blessing. 


yy 


i!^^« 

m 


i'  II 


I  I! 


<•■[ 

{ 


263 


n^ 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


But  iicitlier  tlmt  morrow,  nor  tlie  next,  nor  the  next, 
did  Wilhird  Drunniioiid  go  ;  for  wlien  tlio  morning  cume 
tliey  found  him  tossing  in  the  deli^'iiim  of  a  fever.  In 
dire  uhirm,  ii  doctor  w:is  sent  for,  who  said  lie  wjis  ill  from 
over-excitement  of  some  kind  und  wiis  tlireatened  with 
brain  fever,  but  tlnil,  with  i)roper  care,  it  might  be  warded 
oil'. 

Querulous  as  the  good  hidy  of  the  house  might  seem 
outwardly,  at  heart  slie  was  kind  and  motherly,  and  all 
her  sym[)athi('s  were  aroused  for  the  sick  young  stranger. 
She  listened  in  woii'ler  and  pity  to  his  wild  rjivings.  from 
which  she  could  easily  gather  that  he  was  in  some  way 
connected  with  the  dire  event  that  was  occupying  every 
tongue — how,  she  eonld  not  tell.  That  he  was  of  a  sta- 
tion far  superior  to  their  own  thoy  also  could  see  ;  and 
with  the  nu)st  tender  and  unceasing  care  tliey  watched 
over  him  night  and  day. 

But,  with  all  their  kind  nursing,  three  weeks  elapsed 
b(>fore  he  was  able  to  leave  his  bed,  and  another  i)assed 
before  he  Avns  strong  enough  to  walk  about. 

Of  Sybil  and  the  rest  he  had  he;ira  nothing  during  all 
the  time.  All  exciting  topics  they  had  been  forbidden  by 
the  doctor  to  s})e;d\.  of  before  him  ;  and  that,  as  the  one 
exciting  theme  of  every  tongue,  in  particular.  In  fact, 
had  they  been  willing,  they  hai1  very  little  to  tell,  for 
they  had  few  visitors  from  tlie  outer  world  to  their  quiet 
little  cot. 

One  evening,  as,  still  weak  and  languid,  he  sat  by  the 
window,  watching  the  sun  sink  red  and  fiery  behind  a 
dense,  black  cloud,  and  thinking  bitterly  how,  by  the  im- 
petuous violence  of  his  own  headstrong  j)assions,  his  own 
life  had  been  similarly  clouded,  the  lad  Jolmny  came  in 
with  wid(^-o})en  eyes  and  mouth,  all  aglow  with  some 
wondei'ful  news. 

''  Well,  Johnny,  boy,  what  is  it  ?"  said  his  father,  who 
sat,  as  Willard  had  tirst  seen  him,  serenely  smoking  his 
pipe. 

"^Oh,  father!  I've  just  seen  old  Toller,  from  West- 
port  !''  said  the  boy,  ex(;itedly. 

'•Well,  lad,  what's  the  news  from  there  ?^'  inquired 
his  father. 

Willard,  too,  looked  round  with  a  start. 

*'  Why,  he  says  people  arc  crowding  to  it,  now,  irom 


ANOTHER  STORM  WITHOUT  AXD  WTTTIIN.  263 


evorv  plat'c ;  tliat  evoi-y  lioiise  \s  full  of  people  coino  to 
see  the  woman  hmiji;  I  " 

Wilhird  Druiuinond'.s  face  grew  livid  ami  his  brain 
reeled  at  the  words. 

"  He  says  she  was  raving  crazy  for  ;i  while,  and  lliat 
delayed  it  so  long  ;  hut  the  doctor's  brought  her  to  :  and 
now  the  execution's  going  to  take  j)lace  day  after  to- 
morrow.'^ 

His  im  ther's  warning  glanre  toward  Willard  came  (oj 
late.  Willi  a  lo(dv  of  a  ma<lman  he  rushed  from  the  liou.^e, 
A  horse  the  boy  had  been  riding  stood  saddled  at  (he  gate. 
He  sprang  on  his  back,  and.  striking  him  a  t'ni'ious  blow, 
dashed  otf.  under  the  lirst  moment's  fierce  excitement,  as 
he  bad  d   .u'  before,  unheeding,  unctii'ing  whither  he  went. 

lie  saw  not.  heeded  not  the  coming  sloi-m  ;  but  one  ideti 
filled  his  heart  aiul  brain — that  of  escaping,  of  ilying  far 
away,  of  never  again  beholding  the  scene  of  so  many 
horrors. 

Night  was  at  hand,  bearing  in  its  dark,  lowering  faco 
the  storm  that  all  day  had  been  tlircatening.  An  0[)pres- 
sive  stillness,  a  burning  beat  filled  the  air,  aiul  the  old 
trees  creaked,  groaned  and  tossed  their  long,  weird  arms 
with  a  dreary  moaning  noise,  as  though  in  })ain.  A  hot, 
gusty  wind  lifted,  at  intervals,  the  heavy,  dark  hair  oft'  his 
burning  brow,  buti  without  cooling  it.  It  rustled  the  dry 
leaves  till  thev  v/hirled  in  a  shower  around  him  :  but  he 
heeded  it  not ;  he  would  liardly  have  heeded  the  wildest, 
maddest  hurricane  in  that  moment. 

He  liad  reached  the  forest  ;  and  now,  his  course  becom- 
ing, from  necessity,  less  rapid,  he  c(juld  look  aroumi  him 
and  note  the  change  of  weather.  Vyy  the  last  sickly  liglit 
of  the  dying  day  be  saw  a  tempest  was  at  hand,  and  ho 
hailed  it  with  a  sort  of  mad  exultation,  to  think  ihafc 
nature,  convulsed  bv  the  storm,  would  be  so  much  more 
in  unison  -vith  the  storm  raging  within  his  own  breast. 

He  gave  the  frowning  fa(;e  of  the  sky  but  one  momen- 
tary glance,  for  another  and  far  more  terril)le  sight  was 
ever  before  his  agonized  eyes  :  it  w;is  the  form,  the  beauti- 
ful form  of  his  worshiped  Sybil  swin^itig  betvveen  heaven 
and  earth,  convulsed  in  tlie  agony  of  that  horril)le  death  ; 
exposed  to  the  gaze,  to  tlie  sliouls  and  derision  of  the  mob  ; 
her  lovely  face  darkeiied  and  convulsed  until  death  would 
mercifully  put  au  end  to  her  tortures. 


II 


,564 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


'1!' 


■ 


The  awful  vision  seemed  driving  him  mud.  "With  somo- 
tliiiig  like  the  sliriek  of  a  nuuiiuc  lie  struck  the  jinimul  ho 
bestrode  a  furious  blow  to  drive  him  on.  The  horse 
bounded  nuidly  on  for  a  few  puces,  but  at  that  mouiont  a 
vivid  sheet  of  lightning  blazed  across  their  path,  and  ho 
suddenly  stopped,  reared  himself  almost  upright,  and,  with 
a  loud  snort  of  fear,  turned  and  fled.  I'^aint  from  recent 
illness,  Willard  lost  his  seat  and  was  hurled,  wounded  and 
bleeding,  to  the  earth. 

And  now,  alone,  wounded  and  helpless  in  the  vast  old 
woods,  the  storm  was  upon  him  in  its  might. 

It  is  said  that  in  the  motnent  that  elapses  before  some 
sudden  and  tcrribh^  death,  all  the  events  of  our  lives  pass, 
with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  through  our  minds.  So 
WMS  it  now  with  Willard  Drummond.  As  ho  lay  prostnite, 
bleeding  and  helpless,  all  the  great  wrongs  he  had  done, 
all  ho  had  made  others  suffer,  arose  before  him  with  a  bit- 
terness exceeding  that  of  death.  Through  him  Christie 
was  murdered  ;  through  him  Sybil  was  now  to  die  a  felon's 
ignominious  death. 

The  storm  was  each  moment  increasing ;  and  it  howled 
and  shrieked  and  tore  through  the  trees  as  though  it  had 
risen  in  vengeance  .against  him.  Ilethonght  of  that  otlier 
night  of  storm  and  tempest,  on  which  his  loving,  mujli- 
wronged  child-wife  had  perished  by  the  steel  of  the  assas- 
sin. He  thought  of  Sybil,  alone  and  doomed,  waiting  for 
death  in  her  prison  cell.  And  then,  with  startling  sud- 
denness, flashed  across  his  mind  the  strange  vision  tliat, 
years  before,  he  had  seen  and  scolfed  at  in  a  far-off  land. 
One  by  one  three  visions  had  been  realized  ;  and  now  only 
one — the  death  on  the  scaffold — was  to  come. 

The  night,  the  storm,  the  forest,  the  wounded  man — all 
were  here  ;  and  now  was  death  to  come  and  end  all  this 
mortal  strife  and  close  forever  the  dark  drama  of  his 
life. 

AVhile  these  thoughts  were  yet  passing  through  his  mind, 
a  sound  smote  his  ear  that  startled  him  from  the  deadly 
stupor  into  which  he  was  fast  falling.  It  was  no  crash  of 
the  storm,  this  ;  no  sound  of  wind  and  rain  among  the 
trees,  but  the  sound  of  liuman  footsteps  flying  wildly 
through  the  storm.  He  strove  to  raise  himself  and  cry 
out,  but  his  voice  w%as  lost  in  the  wild  uproar  around,  and 
he  was  about  to  fall  back  in  despair  when  the  fugitive 


THE  DEAD  ALIVE. 


2G5 


from  the  storm  struck  jig»iinst  liini  and  fell  over  him  on 
the  ground. 

Tlio  shock  of  the  sudden  concussion  nearly  stunned 
Willard  ;  but  tlie  person  who  luul  fiillon,  uttering  a  sharp 
ejaculation,  was  up  again  in  an  instant  and  bending  over 
him.  By  tlie  liglit  ol'  the  rapid  fhishrs  of  liglitning  he  1)0- 
held  a  woman  with  dark,  flowing  hair  and  wiU]  maniac 
eyes — the  same  startling  vision  he  had  twic  •  before  seen  in 
Campbell's  Isle.  Willi  a  shriek  that  piercecl  lugh  .above 
the  storm  she  spra'ig  up  and  sped  away  through  tlie  woods 
with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  shot  from  a  bow.  The  unex- 
pected sight  of  this  unearthly-looking  visitant  was  too 
much  for  nature,  in  her  present  exhan>ted  st;ite,  to  l)ear  ; 
and,  falling  heavily  back,  the  dark  night  of  insensibility 
closed  around  him. 


CHAPTER  XXX  111. 

TIIK    dp:  A  I)    ALIVE. 

"  Am  I  iihvady  nuid  ? 
And  does  tleliriiuii  iitttu'  such  sweet  words 
Into  a  dreamer's  ear  ?  " 

—  Tjtdij  of  Lyons. 

Tx  the  little  forest  cot,  the  evening  })recediiig  the  night 
of  the  storm,  Christie  stood  in  the  humble  doorway  watch- 
ing the  sun  go  down. 

Those  weary  months  have  sadly  changed  our  little 
favorite.  The  thin,  wan  face  has  grown  thinner  and  wan- 
ner than  ever  ;  the  angel  brow  paler  and  more  transparent  ; 
the  dark,  loving  blue  eyes  darker,  larger  aiul  wearing  ever 
a  look  of  dee]),  gentle,  unchanging  melancholy  ;  the  fair, 
golden  hair  falls  like  threads  of  raveled  silk  around  her 
peai'ly  cheek  ;  the  light  step  is  slow  and  languid,  and  the 
hectic  crimson  spot  that  each  afternoon  burns  on  those 
usually  colorless  cheeks  bespeak  the  ravages  of  that  fell 
destroyer — consumption.  Slowly  but  surely  she  is  passing 
av/ay,  bending  her  meek  head  to  tlie  stroke  of  the  de- 
stroyer, and  only  sighing  for  the  time  when  her  weary 
head  may  find  rest  at  last  in  some  little  woodland  grave. 
Little  Christie  will  never  live  to  see  the  midsummer  rose 
blov>^. 


11 


^ 


206 


TIIK  QTTEKX   OF  TIIK  TSLE. 


ml 


■1.- 


tfi 


!(• 


Witli  a  quiet,  fervent  joy  alio  thinks  of  tliis  as  slio  stands 
in  the  (luorway,  the  hist  fiery  ray  of  the  red  snnliirht  fiill- 
lUfr,  like  a  slia(h)\v  of  tlie  fih»ry  tliat  awaits  her,  on  her 
bent  liea(h  With  lh()So<h'irk,  railijint.  starry  eyes  fix<'(|  on 
the  fast  eotnini;  (doiids,  her  mind  strays  l)aek  to  that  ni<rht 
of  deepest  woe  —  that  hist  ni^'h'.  s|i('iit  in  her  ishmd  home. 
'IMie  eomirii;  of  every  slorm  reealls  it.  hut  iii!ver  so  vividlv 
as  it  does  to-niuht.  All  the  old  tide  of  her  deep,  iincdianLT- 
\\\<f  love  for  Willard.  for  her  destroyer — so  stroiiij^  and  fer- 
vent that  time.  ahseiuMi  and  the  belief  in  his  ^^iiilt  Inive  no 
power  to  (dian_!j:»(  it — swells  Ir.ir.k  to  lier  heart,  crowned  with 
blissful  memories  of  the  time  vvlien  she  lirst  knew  and 
loved  him,  until  an  almost  passi<»iKite  lonirin":  to  be  with 
liim  onee  more,  to  throw  luu'  .arms  around  his  neek,  to 
seal  licr  forL,dveni'ss  on  his  lips,  to  feel  his  heart  swelling 
and  thi'obbiiii^  a;_i"ainst  her  own  onci^  more,  to  iraze  into 
those  dark  eyes  a,Liain  and  heave  her  last  siu-ji  on  that  1ov(mI 
breast  Look  possession  of  her.  Tlien  eame  the  bitter  rec- 
ollection that  lonn'  ere  this  another  must  lie  his  bi-ide,  and 
she  could  never  f(>el  tlie  strong,  fervent  clasp  of  those  dear 
arms  again,  and,  with  a  gric^f  that  death  alone  could  ever 
still,  she  hid  lusr  facie  in  hei-  hands  to  keej)  back  her  fast 
falling  tears,  while  her  white  bosom  rose  and  f«.'ll  with  con- 
vulsive sobs. 

A  slow,  heavy  step  crashed  over  di-ied  branches  around 
lier,  and  she  looked  up  to  behold  the  kind,  honest  face  of 
Uncle  Reuben. 

"Oh,  thee  is  grieving  again.  This  will  never  do,  little 
Christie,"  he  said,  sorrowfully. 

'^Oh,  T  cannot  help  it  !  It  all  comes  back  so  strangely 
to-night,"  said  Christie,  in  a  voice  full  of  unshed  tears. 

"What  does,  little  one  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  past,  the  past  !  the  sad,  beautiful  past." 

"  Thee  must  forget  the  past,  daughter,  ;uul  live  in  the 
present  and  for  the  future,"  stiid  Uncle  Reuben,  laying  his 
hand  on  her  head.  "Thee  knows  what  the  good  Hook 
savs,  '  Blessed  are  thev  that  mourn,  for  thev  shall  be  com- 
forted.' "  - 

"  Yes.  yes,  I  know  ;  that  promise  has  often  sustained 
me  in  my  darkest  hours.  Dear  Uncle  Reuben,  I  know  I 
am  wicked  to  murmur,  but  bear  with  me  a  little  while, 
until  I  go  where  that  promise  will  be  fulfilled." 

"  Olii  thee  be  sad  to-night,  Christie,"  said  Uncle  Reu- 


rilH  DKAT)  ALIVK. 


rv 


2r,'r 


111(1 
of 


hen,  I'orcin;,'  a  sniilo,  ami  l)iisiliii^^  about  with  sucli  \i<j^i>r 
tl.al  it.  l»roui;lil  icai's  Id  lii-i"  eyes  ;  '*  ilice  must  be  chuerriil 
llii'c  knows.      Where  is  Ijcrthii  ^  " 

*' She  went  out  more  tliaii  uii  hour  ;i<j:o,"  rcjplit'd 
Chriistie,  "  to  rjiiul)K'  in  ti»o  woo«ls,  iKH^onliii^  to  hvv 
usual  habit.  1  hope  she  will  return  before  tho  .storm 
rises." 

"  The  storm  will  be  on  us  in  half  an  hour,"  said  Undo 
Jii'ubon,  looking  uneasily  at  the  darkened  sky  ;  '•  and, 
ai=5  then  knows,  a  storm  always  rouses  Hertlia  into  a 
Btate  of  wildness  bordering,'  on  frenzy,  and  sends  her 
raiubliiii;'  oil'  in  all  directions.  1  had  better  go  and  look 
fur  her." 

''  Where  is  tlie  use,  Unele  Reuben  ?  "said  C'hri-^tie,  seat- 
ing herself  languidly  in  her  roeking-chair.  "  \'ou  oft<Mi 
went  in  search  of  her  bef<iro,  and  hardly  ever  found  her 
until  she  ehose  to  come  home  herself,  you  know." 

*'  Yes  ;  but  one  does  not  feel  so  uneasy  when  searching 
for  her  as  silting  hero  in  the  house  while  she  is  exjjosed  to 
the  storm.  However,  I'll  wait  and  get  tho  supjx-r  and,  if 
she  is  not  here  then.  1  will  go  and  look  for  her."  said 
Uncle  Reuben,  as  he  proceeded  to  light  the  fire  and  hang 
on  the  kettle. 

The  night  deepened  and  darkened,  the  sky  grew  blacker 
and  gloomier,  the  moments  waned  ra})idly,  but  the  maniac 
Ik'rtha  came  not. 

'"  Oh,  1  wish  she  were  liere,"  anxiously  said  good  rnele 
Reuben,  o])cning  the  door  and  looking  out  into  tho 
gloom. 

A  wailing  gust  of  wind  from  the  dark  forest,  followed 
by  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning  and  flood  of  rain,  made  him 
hastily  reenter  and  close  the  door. 

''  And  she  is  exposed  to  it  all !"  ho  exclaimed,  in  deep- 
est trouble. 

"■  Oh,  she  will  soon  come,  I  know  she  will,"  said  Chris- 
tie, hopefully. 

But  still  the  moments  rapidly  waned,  the  lonesome 
night  lingered  and  the  maniac  came  not, 

''  r  must  go  and  seek  for  her,"  said  Uncle  Reuben  at 
last,  in  desperation,  as  he  took  down  his  greatcoat  and 
buttoned  it  on  and  started  for  the  door. 

But  just  at  that  moment  it  was  burst  violently  open, 
and  the  woman  Bertha,  with  streaming*  hair  and  dripping 


•f 


11 


-.  .1 


jj!.. 
I 


,'  ^fw-'' 


268 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


garments,  her  wild,  black  eyes  dilating  with  terror,  her 
garments  dripping  with  rain,  stood  panting  before  them. 

"  Oil,  Bertha,  where  has  thee  been  ? ''  cried  Uncle  Reu- 
ben, in  distress  and  alarm. 

*'llush!  he  is  there  !  "  said  the  maniac,  in  a  terrified 
whisper.  ''  They  killed  him  and  left  him  in  the  forest  ; 
but  I  found  him  !     Come,  come,  come  !" 

She  caught  Keuben  by  the  hand  and  attempted  to  draw 
him  with  her  from  the  liouse. 

''Who  is  killed?  I  don't  know  what  thee  means. 
Bertha,"  he  said,  perplexed. 

''Come,  I  tell  you — he  is  there!"  she  cried,  with  an 
impatient  stamp  of  her  foot,  "out  among  the  trees,  where 
they  left  him.     Come  !  " 

And,  with  a  grasp  of  steel,  she  caught  the  surprised 
Reuben  by  the  arm  and  forcibly  drew  him  with  her  from 
the  liouse. 

Left  alone,  Christie,  somewhat  amazed  at  first,  soon  for- 
got the  circumstance,  and,  gazing  into  the  expiring  coals, 
listened  to  the  wild  ravings  of  the  storm  as  it  raged 
through  the  forest  with  that  lulling  sense  of  security  one 
falls  into  when  comfortably  housed.  There  wore  strange 
pictures  in  the  red,  dying  embers  to  her  that  night — faces 
lost  to  her  forever  peering  out  in  fitful  flame — now  AVll- 
lard's,  now  the  dark,  threatening  one  of  handsome  Sybil 
Campbell,  uoav  the  brisk,  sluirp,  cheery  countenance  of 
Mrs.  Tom,  all  fading,  one  after  another,  to  give  place 
once  more  to  Willard's,  best  loved  of  all. 

The  niglit  was  wearing  on  apace — the  last  glowing  em- 
bers had  faded  away  in  darkness  ;  and,  rousing  herself 
from  her  dreamy  reverie,  as  an  unusually  violent  gust  of 
wind  shook  the  doors  and  windows,  Christie  raised  her 
head,  wondering,  uneasily,  what  could  have  detained 
LTiicle  Reuben. 

Just  as  she  was  beginning  to  get  seriouly  anxious,  the 
door  was  im])etuously  thrown  open  and  Bertha  entered, 
followed  by  Uncle  Reuben,  bearing  in  his  herculean  arms 
the  seemingly  lifeless  form  of  i  man.  Christie  sprang  up 
and  stood  irazing  from  one  to  ..notlier  in  terror. 


"  There  !  "  said  Uncle  Reuben,  placing  the  rigid   form 
on  the  bed  in  the  corner  and  wiping  the  perspiration  off 

rong  as  I  am,  in  carry- 
She  led  me  to  the  very 


his  brow.      "  I  had  some  trouble, 
iiig  him  so  far  througli  the  storm. 


THE  DEAD  ALIVE. 


269 


jelf 

lier 
led 


ms 
up 

rill 
off 


spot,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  triiiinph,  as  he  looked  at 
I>ertlia  ;  "  and  I  found  him  lying  bleeding  and  senseless  on 
the  ground." 

"  Who  is  he?"  said  Christie,  for,  with  the  dark  hair 
falling  over  tlioin,  clotted  with  blood,  the  features  were 
undistingiiishablo. 

"  That  I  do  not  know,  but  some  traveler,  I  imagine, 
who  has  been  thrown  from  his  horse,  judging  from  the  looks 
of  his  wounds.  (Jot  mc  some  warm  water  and  a  sponge, 
until  I  wash  the  blood  off  liis  face." 

As  Christie  obcved,  .:omethinQ^  in  the  wounded  strauijer 
struck  her,  and,  with  a  sudden  thrill,  she  leaned  against 
the  wall  and  pressed  her  hands  to  lier  panting  heart.  Not 
perceiving  her  emotion,  the  man  Keiiben  reverently  lifted 
the  dark,  heavy  masses  of  hair,  and  wiped  the  blood  off  his 
pale,  handsome  face.  As  if  fascinated,  Christie's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  those  cold,  rigid  features,  every  one  of  which  was 
indelibly  imi)riiitedon  her  heart  ;  her  eyes  dilating  ;  her  lij)3 
parted  and  breathless  ;  herface  deadly  pale  ;  her  heart  beat- 
ing astumultuously  as  though  itwould  break  from  its  prison 
and  force  its  way  to  him  with  a  cry  that  resounded  througli 
the  house — a  cry  that  made  even  the  maniac  Jku'tha  start  in 
affright — she  sprang  forward  and  clasped  the  cold  form  in 
her  arms  with  the  wild  and  passionate  shriek  of  : 

''Willard!  Willard  !  Oh,  Father  in  heaven  !  Wil- 
lard  I " 

Transfixed  with  amazement,  Reuben  stood  gazing  upon 
her,  unable  to  speak.  With  a  hystei'ical  laugh  she  covered 
the  cold  marble-like  face  with  hot,  burning,  passionate 
kisses,  still  crying  out  at  intervals  that  loved  v.nme  : 

"Willard!  Willard!  Willard  !" 

*'  So  thee  knows  him,  Christie  ?  ''  saiil  Uncic  Reuben,  at 
Ltst,  in  a  voice  of  intense  astonishment. 

She  looked  up,  with  another  hysterical  laugh,  and  thou 
overtaxed  nature  gave  way  to  a  bu  t  of  blessed,  soothing 
tears. 

''  Well,  I  am  surprised  !"  slowly  said  Uncle  Reuben. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Reuben,  he  is  my  husband  I  "  said  Christie, 
in  a  voice  choked  with  vehement  sobs. 

"Thy  husband!"  said  Uncle  Reuben,  in  a  tone  that 
plainly  bespoke  his  fears  that  Christie  had  lost  iier  reason. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!  my  husband!  my  long-lost  husbaiul, 
whom  1  never  expected  to  meet  again  on  this  side  of  tlio 


u* 


''fr™-' 


M' 


HIHBI 


270 


TlIP]  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


I:  t 

I'i'! 


r     I  flS\ 


W't.  ' 


grave.  Oh,  Uncle  Reuben,  you  did  not  know  I  was  mcr- 
ried,  but  so  it  is  !  I  never  meant  to  tell  you,  but  the  sur- 
prise— the  shook — forced  it  from  me.  Oli,  Uncle  Ileu]>en, 
do  not  look  as  if  y<'U  thought  me  insane  ;  for  indeed,  indeed 
I  speak  the  truth.""  Ami  again  Ciiristie's  voice  was  lost  in 
sobs,  as  she  Ixnvcd  her  head  on  llie  c:old  ])roast  before  her 
and  thought  how  warmly  and  tumultuously  it  had  onco 
throbbed  for  her. 

Uncle  Keuben  wasnot  one  long  to  give  wav  to  anv  emo- 
tion  ;  so,  witli  a  look  of  inteiise  surprise  and  perplexity, 
he  recalled  his  s(;atLered  faculties,  and,  once  more  approach- 
ing the  bed,  said,  slowly  ; 

'MVell,  if  he  is  thy  husband,  thee  is  anxious,  no  doubt, 
for  his  recovery,  iiiid  had  better  go  away  for  the  j)resent 
and  let  me  attend  to  him  and  bring  him  to." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Iiouben,  do  you  think  he  is  dead?"  said 
Christie,  in  a  tone  of  ])iercing  anguish. 

''  By  no  means,  little  one,  he  is  only  in  a  swoon  at  pres- 
ent, from  which  he  will  shortly  recover.  And  there  are 
no  bones  broken,  either,"  added  Uncle  Reuben,  after  a 
short  examination  ;  ^'  oidy  this  ugly  cut  in  his  head  which 
has  bled  so  profusely  and  which  I  must  Itind  uj)  now. 
We'll  have  to  cut  the  hair  off  just  round  the  temple,  you 
see,  to  get  at  it.  It's  heaven's  mercy  it  wasn't  half  an 
inch  lower,  or  he  would  have  been  a  dead  man  now." 

A  convulsive  shudder  at  the  bare  idea  agitated  the  sleii- 
der  form  of  Christie,  and  she  lifted  the  silky  waves  of  dark 
hair  with  u  fond  superstition  astliey  were  severed,  all  mat- 
ted with  blood,  fi'om  his  head. 

And  thus,  while  Uncle  Reuben  sat  down  to  bathe  his 
temple  and  forehead  with  water,  she  took  the  cold  haiuls 
in  her  own  burning  ones  to  chafe  them  ;  with  her  eyes 
still  fixed,  as  if  she  never  could  remove  them  more,  on  that 
cold,  white,  handsome  face,  as  still  and  fixed  as  though 
immovable  in  death,  looking  whiter  still  in  contrast  with 
the  wet,  black  hair. 

"And  so  thee  is  a  wife,  little  Christie,"  said  Uncle 
Reuben,  looking  thoughtfully  and  wonderingly  upon  the 
two  faces  before  him. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  forgive  me  for  not  telling  you  before — but 
it  was  a  secret.  No  one  knew  of  it  ;  we  were  married  in 
private." 

**  Ah,  those  hidden  marriages  never  come  to  any  gooil," 


THE  DEAD  ALIVE. 


71 


snid  Uncle  Pieuben,  as  lie  sliook  his  lieail  and  glanced  at 
Jiertlia,  who,  all  this  time,  had  been  .standing  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  gazing,  wirli  a  sort  of  \agne  interest  and  curi- 
osity from  one  face  to  the  other.  ''  Wlnit  if  her  fate  had 
been  thine  ?  " 

''  It  has  scarcely  been  more  happy,"  said  Christie,  with- 
out lifting  her  eyes  ;  "  but  this  moment,  to  see  him  once 
more,  to  touch  his  hand,  to  know  T  am  near  him.  almost 
repays  me  for  all  1  havj  sulfered.  Now,  at  least,  J  can  die 
hippy,  since  I  liave  the  opportunity  of  telling  liim  1  for^-ive 

1111)  ^  ^  "  iJ  o^ 

iim  all. 

''  Forgive  him  I  'IMien  he  has  wronged  thee  ?  " 
"  llush  !"  said  Christie,  turning,  if  possible,  paler  than 
before  ;  "  lie  loved  me  once,  and  f  wish  to  forget  every- 
thing but  that.  But,  Uncle  Keuben,  are  vou  sure  he  will 
recover  ?  1  see  no  signs  of  it  yet,"  said  Christie,  in  ris- 
ing alarm. 

"  I  do  ;  even  now  consciousness  is  returning,"  said  Uncle 
Keuben,  as  a  slight  movement  of  the  muscles  of  the  face 
Occam e  perceptible. 

"Willard  !  Willard  !  Dearest  Wilhird,  look  up!"  she 
said,  bending  anxiously  over  him. 

Was  it  the  startling sound  of  that  well-remembered  voice 
— tiiat  voice  he  imagined  forever  stilled  in  death — that 
awoke  him  ?  The  large,  dark  eyes  slowly  opened,  wan- 
dered wildly  around,  and  the  first  object  on  which  they 
rested  was  Christie. 


^WP»^ 


212 


rv 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


EXPLANATIONS. 

•'  Mine  after  life  !    What  is  mine  after  life  ? 
My  day  is  closcl  I     The  fjloom  of  night  is  come  i 
A  hopeless  darkness  settles  over  my   fate." 

—Joanna  Bailue. 

"  WiLLARD  !  Willard  !  Wilkrd  !" 

With  liis  own  name  breiitliiiig  in  liis  ears  by  the  voice  he 
never  expecfed  to  hear  again  ;  witli  tlie  small,  fair  face, 
the  deep  blue  eyes,  and  waving,  golden  hair  of  Christie 
bending  over  him,  AVillard  Drummond  lay  scarcely  dar- 
ing to  breathe,  unable  to  speak,  gazing  witli  wild,  wonder- 
ing, incredulous  eyes  upon  the  angel  face  he  had  never 
expected  to  behold  on  earth  more, 

-'  Willard  !  Willard  !  My  own  AVillard  !  Only  say  you 
know  me  !  only  speak  to  me  once  more  before  I  die  I"  was 
the  wild  cry  that  sighed  in  his  ear  in  the  tones  of  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  voice. 

He  pressed  his  hands  to  his  foreliead,  like  one  in  a 
dream. 

•^  Am  I  mad  ?"  he  said,  slowly  ;  ^' or  am  I  dead,  and 
see  Christie  again  in  the  world  of  spirits  ?" 

"  Willard  !  Willard  !  we  both  live  !  Oh,  Willard,  thank 
God,  you  wore  spared  the  guilt  of  my  death  !  Oh,  Will- 
ard !  I  am  not  dead  ;  do  not,  do  not  look  at  me  so  wildly  !  " 

''  Can  this  be  only  the  delirium  of  a  dream  ?"  he  said, 
passing  his  hand  over  his  brow,  in  the  same  troubled  and 
bewildered  way. 

No,  it  was  not  a  dream  !  No  phantom  of  the  imagina- 
tion ever  could  have  clasped  him  with  such  yearning,  cling- 
ing arms  ;  ever  could  have  held  his  head  on  such  a  warm, 
throbbing  breast  ;  ever  could  have  looked  into  his  face 
with  such  passionate,  undying  love  ;  ever  could  have 
showered  upon  him  such  passionate  caresses. 

He  awoke  to  tlie  reality,  at  last.  Springing  up  in  the 
bed  where  he  lay,  he  gazed  upon  her  as  if  doubting  the 
evidence  of  his  senses. 


l^ 


EXPLANATIONS. 


273 


L 


"  Oh,  Willard  I  Oh,  my  liusbund  !  I  am  not  dead  ;  I 
was  only  wounded  !  I  live  still  to  say  I  forgive  you  all  that 
is  j)ast  I  " 

*'  Great  heaven  I  am  I  sane  or  mad  ?  "  ho  said,  in  a  low, 
deep,  wanderiTig  voice. 

She  approached,  canglit  botli  his  hands  in  hers,  and 
kneeling  down  before  him,  said  : 

''  Willard,  look  at  me  I  feel  my  hands  !  my  face  I  Listen 
to  my  words  !  see  me  kneeling  before  you  I  and  believe  1 
am  your  own,  faithful,  loving  Christie,"  still  !  " 

'*  Then  she  may  be  saved  yet  ! "  was  his  wild  cry,  as, 
unheeding  the  slender  girl  kneeling  at  his  feet,  lie  sprang 
from  the  bed,  with  the  one  thought  of  Sybil  ever,  ever  up- 
permost in  his  mind. 

''Who,  Willard  ?" 

''  Sybil  I  Sybil  !  my  wronged  Sybil  !  " 

At  the  words,  at  the  name,  her  blissful  dream  faded 
away.  The  past,  the  dreary,  wretched  past  came  back, 
and  Christie's  liead  dropped  heavily  on  the  bed. 

He  was  scarcely  in  his  right  senses  yet,  but  the  action, 
and,  above  all,  the  necessity  of  liasto,  restored  him  to  him- 
self, and  stunned,  bewildered,  giddy  with  many  emotions, 
lie  sank  into  a  chair  and  strove  to  collect  liis  thoughts. 

"  I  know  not  yet  whether  I  am  sleeping  or  waking," 
ho  said,  incoherently.  *'  Christie — where  are  you  ?  Come 
here  ;  let  me  see  you  again,  that  I  may  know  whether  all 
this  is  not  a  vision  of  a  disordered  brain,  that  will  fade 
away  as  many  a  similar  one  has  done." 

She  arose,  and  with  a  face  as  perfectly  colorless  as  a 
snow  wreath,  stood  before  him. 

He  took  her  hand,  so  small,  and  warm,  and  transparent 
that  it  looked  like  an  infant's,  and  pusliing  back  the  full 
golden  hair  of  the  fine  white  brow,  gazed  long  and  ear- 
nestly into  the  depths  of  the  large  blue  eyes  so  unspeakably 
sad,  so  deeply  reproachful,  now.  So  long  did  he  gaze  that 
Christie's  eyes  fell  at  last,  and  the  golden  lashes  swept  lier 
cheek,  while  the  "  eloquent  blood  "  mantled  for  a  moment 
to  her  snowy  brow. 

''  YeS;  this  is  Christie  ;  alive  still,  and  yet  so  long 
mourned  for  as  dead  I  "  he  said  slowly.  "  This  is  strange  ; 
this  is  wonderful  I  Christie,  how  comes  this  to  p:iss  ? 
How  is  it  that  after  so  many  months  given  up  for  dead,  I 
find  you  alive  still  iu  this  forest  cot  ?  " 


rjr  •  — 


274 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


*'01i,  Willurtl  !  Williird  !  c;{i,ii  you  ask,  n,f Lor  tluit  dread- 
ful ni<^liL  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  unuLturable  sorrow  and 
rt4»roa('li. 

"That  dreadful  night?  AVhat  dreadful  night, 
Christie  ?"  he  said,  looking  bewildered. 

•*  Oh,  Willard,  what  a  (jucstiou  for  you  to  ask  !  That  you 
could  ever  for  one  instant  forget  that  night  of  storm  and 


crime 


!  '' 


"  Christie,  as  heav-en  liears  me,  I  know  not  what  you 
mean  I  Do  you  allude  to  that  teiujiesluous  night  on  whicli 
you  were  supj^osed  to  be  murdered  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  I  do  I  You  know  I  do  !  Oh,  Willard  I 
AVillard  !  that  you  should  speak  of  it  like  this  !  ''  she 
said,  in  that  low  tone  of  saddest  reproach. 

"  Christie,  there  is  some  nusunderstanding  here.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  I  wao  with  you  that  night  ?"  lie  said, 
vehemently. 

She  did  not  reply,  but  her  eyes  answered  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  Christie  I  as  there  is  a  heaven  above  us,  I  never  set 
foot  in  the  island  from  the  day  we  parted  there  after  your 
telling  me  of  your  interview  with  Sybil!"  said  Willard, 
impetuously. 

'•  And  the  note  ? ''  she  said,  faintly. 

'^  Do  you  mean  the  note  appointing  our  meeting  on  the 
beach,  that  night  of  mvstery  ?"  he  asked. 

^'Oh,  ves!   vesl" 

"■  Christie  I  I  sent  that  note,  but  I  never  M'ent,  never. 
I  swear  it  by  all  that  is  sacred  in  heaven  I  That  very  hour 
I  received  news  that  my  father  was  dying,  which  obliged 
me  to  start  instantly  for  home,  without  even  an  oi)])or- 
tunity  of  api)ri8ing  you.  Christie,  that  night  I  spent 
iiuuiy  miles  away  from  the  island." 

She  gasped  for  breath,  grew  deadly  pale  and  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"  Christie  !    Christie  I    do  you  not  bcdieve  me  ?" 

She  lifted  her  eyc^.  There  was  truth  in  her  face,  and 
with  the  wild  flash  of  sudfh:"!!  jov  she  cried  out  ; 

"  I  do  !  I  do  !  1  do  I  Oh,  Wiilard,  thaidv  God  for  this  ! 
Thank  Cod  that  you  never  raised  your  hand  against  my 
life !  " 

"Christie  !  *' 

*'  Oh  I     I  do  not  wonder  at  your  look  of  horror  ;  but  all 


i! 


the 


EXPLANATIONS. 


275 


those  weary  montlis  I  tlionglit  so.  Oli,  Will.-inl  I  dearest  J 
can  you  ever  forgive  iiie  for  wroii^nng  you  .so  ?" 

^'Christie  !" 

"Forgive  me  !  forgive  me  !  Oli,  my  liusl)ii?i(l,  forgive 
me  !  But  on  tlnit  uiglit,,  tliiit  awful  night,  1  was  nu't  on 
the  beacli  aiul  stal^bed,  by  a  man." 

*'  Heavens  and  eartli  !  and  you  thought  it  was  I  ?" 

''Willard  !  Wilhird  !  forgive  me!  Hut,  oh  !  wluit  else 
could  I  thiniv  ?  Y'oii  appoiutccl  ilic  mcctiiig.  ]  went, 
wai3  met  tliere  by  a  tall  man,  stabbed  by  him,  and  left  for 
de[id  on  the  shore." 

•'And  you  could  believe  I  could  do  such  a  deed  ?  Oh, 
Christie  !  Christie  I"  he  said,  with  l)itter  reproach. 

"  Oh,  h.ow  could  I  help  it  ?  How  could  I  help 
it  ?  The  thought  was  maddening ;  but  how  couhl 
1  tliink  otherwise  ?  Say,  only  say  vou  forgive  me, 
AVillard?" 

"I  forgive  you,  Christie  ;  but  you  liave  far  the  more  to 
fori{iv(\  What  a  strau'jo,  fathomless  mysterv  all  this  is  ! 
Who  was  this  man,  Christie  ?'' 

''  I  do  not  know  !  1  have  no  idea  !  Oh  I  I  tliought  I 
had  not  an  enemy  in  the  Avide  world." 

''  Is  there  no  clue  !  is  there  no  means  by  which  you 
could  recognize  him  again  ?" 

'^  None  I  none  I  you  forget  the  storm  ;  the  darkness  ; 
the  deep  darkness  of  that  night." 

''True  !  but  heavens  !  what  am  I  thinking  of!"  ho 
said,  starting  uj),  wildly.  '*  Why  do  J  linger  an  instant 
here,  wlum  it  is  in  my  power  to  save  Sybil  from  the  igno- 
minious death  of  the  halter." 

''What!" 

As  if  a  mine  had  exploded  beneath  her,  Christie  sprang 
np,  with  blanched  face,  starting  eyes,  clenched  hands,  and 
livid  lips,  gazing  upon  him  in  speechless  liorror. 

''  Christie,  she  was  arrested,  tried,  condemned,  and 
doomed  to  die,  for  your  murder  ! " 

"  For  mine  !  Father  in  heaven  ! "  gasped  the  almost 
fainting  Christie. 

**  It  may  not  be  too  late  to  save  her  yet.  You  must 
come  with  me,  Christie.  Hasten  !  hasten  !  Every  moment 
is  precious  now." 

'•  Oh,  this  is  awful  !  awful  !  Oh,  Willard  I  when  doe3 
this  most  unnatural  sentence  take  place  ?  " 


i. 


r 


276 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


0 


i; 


'^  The  (lay  after  to-morrow.  Witli  all  our  speed  we  will 
be  barely  '  'jle  to  reach  the  spot  in  time." 

''Most  horrible  I "  said  Christie,  with  a  convulsive 
shudder.  "  How  came  she  ever  to  be  suspected  of  such 
a  deed  ?  " 

"Oh,  there  was  a  maddening  cliain  of  circumstantial 
evidence,  strong  enough  to  convict  an  angel  from  above. 
I  have  no  time  to  tell  you  now ;  on  our  way  I  will  tell  you 
all.     Merciful  heaven  I  if  we  sliould  be  too  late." 

"  I  will  go  instantly  !  I  will  be  ready  in  a  moment," 
said  Christie,  wildly,  as  she  hurriedly  threw  on  lier  wrap- 
pings. 

*'  ]'>ut  not  in  tliis  storm,  Christie,  boes  thee  not  hear 
how  it  rages  ?"  anxiously  said  Uncle  K(  uben,  who  all  this 
time  had  been  a  silent,  wondering  listener.  "Thee  must 
not  venture  out  to-night." 

"  Oh,  I  must  !  I  must  I  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature  de- 
pends upon  it,"  said  Christie,  tying  on  her  large  mantle 
with  trembling  haste. 

\Villard  Drummond  paused  for  a  moment  in  dismay,  to 
listen  to  the  storm  howling  through  the  trees,  and  glance 
at  the  frail,  fragile  little  figure  before  him.  But  the 
thought  of  Sybil  in  peril  of — that  dreadful  death — steeled 
his  heart  against  every  other  feeling. 

"She  must  be  saved,  let  what  will  follow!"  ho  men- 
tally exclaimed. 

"  Thee  will  never  be  able  to  make  thy  way  through  the 
storm,  Christie,"  said  lleuben,  rising  in  still  increasing 
unxiety  ;  "in  thy  delicate  state  of  health,  too.  Listen  to 
the  wind  and  rain." 

*•  Oh  !  I  hear  it  !  I  hear  it !  But  though  it  rained  fire 
from  heaven,  I  should  have  to  go." 

"  Thee  will  never  survive  this  night,  if  tliee  ventures 
out,"  said  Uncle  Keuben,  solemnly. 

"  What  matters  it  ?  ^Iv  life  is  worthless,  so  hers  is 
Siivod,"  she  said,  with  sorrowful  bitterness. 

AVillard  Drummond's  heart  smote  him  ;  and  some  of  the 
old  love  revived  in  his  heart  that  moinentfor  poor  Christie. 

"  Christie,  thee  will  perish  with  fatigue." 

"Oh,  no;  UU  not.  This  inward  strength  will  sus- 
tain me.  I  will  live,  I  must  live,  I  shall  live,  to  save 
Svbil  Campbell.  1  feel  it  ;  an  inward  voice  tells  mo 
so." 


11 


Slllg 


the 
;tie. 


EXPLAXATIOXS. 


277 


**  Then  thee  is  determined  to  go  ?  "  said  Uncle  Reuben, 
sorrowfully. 

''I  must.  Duty  calls  me.  Dear  Uncle  Reuben,  good- 
by." 

"  Will  thee  ever  come  back,  little  Chri.stie?"  he  said, 
holding  the  little  hand  she  extended,  in  both  his. 

*' As  iieaven  wills  !  I  fear  not.  But — Uncle  Reuben — 
dear,  good  Uncle  Reuben — if  I  do  not,  you  will  come  to 
see  me  die." 

*^  Oh,  dearest  Christie!"  His  honest  voice  choked, 
and  he  stopped. 

*'Good-by,  Bertha.     Kiss  Christie  once  more." 

She  put  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  the  maniac,  whose 
eyes  were  fixed  wistfully  on  her  face. 

'•  (loing  away  ?"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  vague  surprise. 

"  Yes,  dearest  friend  ;  and  if  I  never  come  back,  you 
must  not  quite  forget  me." 

*'  Christie  !  Christie  !  my  wife  I  my  injured,  long- 
suffering  wife,  do  not  talk  so  !  I  cannot  bear  it  I "  said 
Willard  Drummond,  passionately  ;  for  every  word  of  that 
sorrowful  parting  had  hoon  like  a  dagger  to  his  lieart. 

She  came  over  with  the  old,  trusting  love  of  happier 
times,  when  that  love  first  filled  her  heart,  and  clasping 
her  hands  on  his  shoulder,  she  dropped  her  face  on  them, 
and  softly  murmured  : 

*'  Dearest  Willard  !  it  is  better  so.  I  am  not  afraid  to 
die  now,  after  what  I  have  heard  to-night.  And — do  not 
be  hurt,  dearest  love — but  I  have  no  wish  to  live.  You 
will  be  happy  with  her — with  Sybil  ;  and  I — I  will  pray 
for  you  botli,  and  love  you  botli  in  heaven." 

''Oh,  Christie  !  Oh,  my  wife  !"  he  cried,  clasping  her 
in  his  arms,  with  a  passionate  cry  ;  "  am  I  only  to  realize 
the  treasure  I  have  lost,  when  it  is  too  late  ! " 

"  Not  too  late,  Willard  ;  if  it  will  help  to  make  you  a 
better,  a  holier  man  ;  it  is  not  too  late.  There  are  many 
happy  days  for  you,  for  Sybil,  for  me --yet  to  come." 

**  Wretch  !  wretch  !  that  1  have  been,"  he  groaned,  in 
bitter  grief.  "  Why  was  I  doomed  to  bring  bitter  misery 
and  death  on  all  who  ever  loved  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  Willard,  hush!  You  break  my  hear^ ! "  said 
Christie,  lifting  her  golden  head  off  his  breast.  '*  You 
must  not  talk  in  that  wild  way.  And  we  are  losing  time 
staying  here,  wiien  every  second   is  more   precious  thua 


278 


rp 


THE  QUEEX  OK  THE  ISLE. 


untold  gold,"  she  julded,  stiirtiiig  up.  "  Come  Willard, 
come." 

While  slio  s])oke,  Uncle  Roubeu,  who  had  passed  out  un- 
observed, reentered. 

''  Ooo(I-l)v,  once  more,  Uncle  Reuben,"  said  Christie, 
*'  we  are  going."' 

"  Not  '  good-by,'  yet,  little  Cliristie.  I  will  go  with  tlieo 
to  Newport." 

*'  Hut,  Uncle  Reuben,  there  is  no  necessity.  I  know 
the  way." 

^'  And  did  thee  think,  little  one,  I  was  going  to  let  thee 
Avalk  tiiat  distance  in  this  pelting  storm?"  said  Uncle 
lumben,  witii  a  sad,  grave  smile.  "  No  ;  it  is  not  quite  so 
bad  as  tliat.  Thee  will  ride  in  the  donkey  cart  until  we 
reacli  Newport." 

"  Tlien  you  have  such  a  conveyance  ?  "  said  AVillard, 
eagerly.  "  Thank  lieaven  for  that,  in  it  you  will  at  least 
be  saved  tlie  fatigue  of  walking,  Christie." 

''  But  liow  can  you  leave  Hei'tha,  Uiude  Reuben." 

"  I  will  \ovk  the  door,  and  Bertha  will  go  to  bed — will 
thee  not,  Ijcrtha  ?  " 

The  maniac  nodded,  and  still  Avistfully  watched  Christie, 
as  tliough  some  faint  impression  that  she  was  going  to  lose 
iier  was  forcing  its  way  tiirougli  her  clouded  tjrain. 

For  the  first  time  Willard  turned  his  eyes  upon  her,  and 
gave  a  violent  start,  as  he  recognized  the.  well-kno\vn 
spectral  face. 

In  a  few  brief  words,  Christie  gave  him  to  uiulerstand 
how  it  had  happened  he  had  seen  her  on  the  isle. 

And  then,  drawing  her  arm  witliin  his,  Willard  led  her 
from  the  house,  followed  by  Uncle  Reuben. 

Christie  took  her  place  in  the  humble  little  donkey 
cart,  and  cowered  down  to  avoid  the  pelting  rain. 

''  Thee  had  better  get  in,  too,  being  wounded  and  weak 
from  loss  of  blood,  tliee  knows,"  said  Uncle  Reuben,  to 
Willard.     ''I  will  walk  and  drive." 

"Not  at  all.  Do  you  imagine  I  would  ride  while  you 
walked  ?  I  am  not  weak  ;  I  feel  the  strengtii  of  ten  men 
within  me,  urging  me  on." 

''  'I'hat  is  oidy  excitement,  friend  ;  it  will  not  last. 
Thee  had  better  get  in." 

But  Willard  peremptorily  refused,  and  took  his  place  oa 
the  other  si<ie  of  the  little  cart. 


i 


M 


EXPLAXATIOXS. 


279 


i 


I 


Seeing  it  was  in  vnin  to  ur»;e  him,  the  old  man  aUowed 
iliu  iiniinal  to  starl.  And  ('liristic  raised  for  u  nionient 
her  bowt'd  head,  to  east  one  last,  sorrowful  udanee  at  the 
little,  isolated  forest  eot  slu^  was  never  destined  to  see 
a^^ain.  'IMiey  turned  :iii  abrupt  anul'',  the  ni;,^lit  jind  dark- 
ness shut  it  from  her  view,  and  with  a  lolli^^  sldverinn"  si^uli, 
she  bent  her  head  once  niore  in  her  pale  luinds. 

That  idi^Hit  ride  throuuii  the  forest— with  the  wind  wail- 
in<?  eerily  in  loiii;,  lamentable  blasts  throuirh  the  w;!vin<; 
arms  of  the  trees,  with  tin;  rain  driving,''  in  blindini^  aiists 
in  their  i'aees,  with  the  pall  of  almost  Kiryptian  darkness 
around,  above,  and  on  everv  hand  I  Tiiat  niirht  ride  ! 
slee})ini^  or  wakin*;',  in  after  days,  alone  or  in  the  gayest 
assembly,  it  would  rise  like  a  haitntiuLT  vision  before  the 
eyes  of  Willai'd  Drummond  ;  and  the  little,  bowed,  shadowy 
ilgure,  eroucdiini;"  silently  in  a  corner  (d'  the  wagon,  would 
awaken  in  his  heart  feeiinifs  of  undving  renmrse.  UMiat 
night  ride  through  the  long,  lonesome  woods  I  All  the 
great  wrong  he  had  done  that  litl'e,  bowed  form,  from 
whose  gentle  lir)S  no  word  of  reproach  ever  fell,  from 
whose  loving  eyes  no  aceusing  glance  ever  Hashed,  aro^^e 
in  bitter  array  b'dore  him,  until  he  felt  as  if  hi^  could 
never  encounter  the  gaze  of  those  earnest,  soul-lit  orbs 
again — \'vh,  as  he  walked  beside  her,  as  much  out  of 
his  sphere  as  a  lost  soul  might  feel  before  the  gates  of 
lieaven. 

Then,  by  a  natural  transition,  his  thoughts  went  stray- 
ing out  to  the  future — to  Sybil.  She  was  lost  to  him  now, 
as  much  as  though  she  were  dead  and  in  her  gi-ave.  '^riiere 
was  a  sharp,  keen  panii:  piercing  through  his  heart  for  one 
moment,  at  the  thought  ;  the  next,  a  move  generous  feel- 
insf  filled  it,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  could  even  iovfullv  i^ivo 
her  up  to  save  her  from  that  awful  doom.  Once  Sybil 
was  saved,  his  determination  was,  to  depart  with  his  little, 
drooping  >7irl-wife  to  some  far-otT southern  clime — to  some 
snnny  village  in  France  or  Italy,  where  the  more  genial 
clinnite  wonld  restore  her  to  liealth,  and  where  tlie 
wretched  past  would  be  forever  unknown.  There  he  would 
endeavor  to  atone,  by  his  devoted  care  and  attcntioTi.  for 
all  he  had  ever  made  her  suffer,  and  forsfet  Sybil.  Hut 
that  name,  as  usual,  awoke  a  host  of  tender,  sorrowful 
memories,  and  something  akin  to  despair  again  replaced 
every  other  feeling  in  his  tortured  mind,     Ti'uly,  in  tho 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


fe 


M/. 


5r     /^/^ 


m 


1.0   !f  i^  ssi 


I.I 


1^ 


22 


11:25  1 1.4 


18 


1.6 


<^ 


'm 


/a 


Photographic 

^Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


^ 


A 


\ 


^N^ 


* 


:\ 


\ 


^ 


v-.'^^'o^ 


pu^^  ^h 


y^ 


7 


li^ 


>      'I 


!i' 


PI 


I  i  I 


it 


280 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


keen  suffering  of  tliat  moment,  he  realized  what  Divine 
retribution  is. 

Air]  so  on — still  on,  through  the  chill,  bleuk  night,  the 
driving,  plashing  rain,  tlie  sighing,  moaning  wind,  the 
dark,  tlesolato  forest  road,  our  n'oary,  silent  trio  wound 
their  lonely  way.  Not  a  word  was  s])oken  from  the  mo- 
ment of  starting.  Christie,  bowed,  collapsed,  shuddering, 
cowered  in  tlie  bottom  of  the  rude  cart,  her  white,  tliin 
face  hidden  in  her  whiter,  thinner  hands.  Uncle  Reuben, 
urging  on  the  stumbling  donkey  to  his  utmost  speed,  and 
now  and  then  turning  to  see  that  *' little  Christie"  was 
safe  or  to  glance  at  tlie  tall,  dark  figure  walking  oj)}»osite. 
And  Willard  Drummoml,  with  his  hat  drawn  down  over 
liis  brows,  muflled  in  his  cloak,  strode  on  With  ])owed  licad, 
too  absorbed  in  his  bitter  thoughts  to  heed  the  flight  of 
time. 

And  so  the  long,  silent  night  lingered  and  lingered,  and 
the  drip})ing  forest  road  was  passed  at  hist,  and  they  passed 
at  intervals,  gloomy-looking  farmhouses,  whose  inmates 
were  still  asleep,  and  whose  only  greeting  to  our  weai'y 
travelers  was  the  noisy  barking  of  tlieir  watch  dogs  as  they 
passed  on.  And  so  the  melancholy  journey  was  continued 
until  morning,  wan,  cold  and  gray,  lifted  its  dead,  dull 
face  from  the  mantle  of  night,  and  casta  sickly  glimmer 
of  light  along  the  wet,  slip])ery  piith. 

"  M(jrning  at  hist,"'  said  Uncle  Uciiben,  lifting  his  head 
with  a  dee])  sigh  of  relief.  "This  has  been  the  longest 
night  1  have  ever  known." 

"  Yes,  morning,'*  said  Wilhird  Dnimmond,  looking  up 
bitterly  at  the  dull,  lca<len  sky  ;  '*  and  we  so  far  from 
AVestport  yet.  Only  one  chiy  more  between  her  and  an 
iirnominous  death." 

Uncle  Reuben  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  at  the 
bowed  form  in  the  c:irt,  with  a  look  of  calm  reproach. 

''Is  thee  tired,  Christie  ?"  he  said,  a])})roac]iing  her. 

She  lifted  her  head,  disclosing  a  face  so  white  ami  hag- 
gard, so  worn  with  fatigue,  sleei)lessness  and  gr'ef,  that 
even  Willard  started  back  in  grief  and  alarm. 

"Oh,  little  Christie!  I  knew  this  journey  would  kill 
thee  !  "  said  T^^nclo  Reuben,  with  a  groan. 

'•  1  feel  a  little  tired — that  is  all,"  she  said,  forcing  ft 
wa]i  smile.  ''  Dear  friend,  do  not  look  at  me  with  such 
frightened,  anxious  eyes  ;  it  is  nothing." 


EXPLANATIONS. 


281 


the 


V. 


kill 


'*  ThoG  is  deadly  pule,  Christie." 

''  1  juiicold,''  she  said,  with  asliiver  ;  "  notliing  more." 

"  And  wet  througli,"  said  Uncle  l{eul)en,  sorrowfuily. 
*'  We  mnst  stop  at  the  first  house  we  meet,  and  get  some 
dry  clotlies  and  some  breakfast.'' 

'*  No  no  ;  you  must  not  stop  :  tliero  is  no  time  to  lose. 
Pray,  go  on,"  said  Cliristie,  in  ahirm. 

*'  Thee  must  take  time,"  said  Unele  l{eul)en,  firmly, 
looking  straight  at  Willard.  "  'i'liee  will  hardly  live  to  see 
Westport,  else.  Does  thee  want  to  die  a  sui'_'idc, 
Christie  ?" 

'•  lie  speaks  truly,  dearest — we  must  stop  at  the  nearest 
farmhouse,"  said  Willard,  bending  over  iicr.  "\My  j^oor 
Christie,  you  do,  imleed,  look  jaded  to  death,"  he  added, 
sorrowfully. 

'' It  is  nothing,  Willard.  If  I  only  reach  West[)ort  in 
time,   I  care  for  nothing  else." 

"  15ut  1  do,  Christie.  1  'vant  you  after  that  to  hurry 
and  get  well,  and  come  with  me  to  Italy,  to  far-olf,  beau- 
tiful Italy,  where  our  lives  will  be  ha])})y  as  a  fairy  tale." 

She  lifted  her  large,  lustrous  blue  eyes  to  hi.s  face,  with 
a  long,  steady  gaze,  the  calm,  clear,  far-seeing  gaze  of  a 
soul  lingering  on  the  verge  of  eternity.  How  ])lain]y 
tiiose  mournful  eyes  said  "  Too  late — too  late  I  "  ] hit  she 
did  not  speak,  she  only  smiled  faintly,  and  sank  wearily 
back,  with  her  head  shrouded  in  her  numtle  once  more. 

The  white  hands  of  morning  were  now  f:ist  ])u.shing 
aside  the  clouds  of  iiiirht.  A2  thev  went  on,  thcv  en- 
countered  one  or  two  laborers,  with  spades  on  their 
shoulders,  going  to  their  daily  toil,  who  stared  at  them 
with  lack-lustre  eves,  as  if  thev  thought  them  ghosts.  At 
the  end  of  half  an  hour,  they  reached  a  comfortable-look- 
ing farmhouse,  and  aliglited,  at  tin;  outer  gate.  Willard 
lifted  Christie  out  in  his  anus,  while  Tnele  Iteuben  kept 
olf  the  dogs  that  ran  out,  barking  noisily,  with  his  whip. 
The  noise  brought  the  farmer  himself  to  the  door,  who, 
noticing  the  drooping  form  of  Christie,  ami  the  pale,  worn 
faces  of  her  coinpanions,  cordially  invited  tl)em  to  enter. 

There  was  a  bright  cheerful  lire  blazing  on  the  ample 
hearth,  and  a  wotnan  bending  over  it,  preparing  break- 
fast. As  she  jilaced  a  chair  for  Christie,  into  wliich  the 
young  girl  dropped,  totally  exinr.isted,  Willard  drew  her 
aside,  and  placing  his  purse  in  her  hands,  said  : 


283 


THE  QUEEX  OF  THE  ISLE. 


fs    " 


.'J 


II  ' 


;I  , 


i    ! 


I.   i 


I, 


"  ^[y  good  woman,  you  perccivQ  the  young  lady's  clothes 
an;  \rot  through.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  take  her  to 
voiir  room,  mimI  furnish  lior  with  some  dry  ones  ?  "' 

"  ^'es,  sir  ;  I'm  sure  I'll  l)eghid  to  hi'Ipher,  poor  young 
thing  I  I've  got  some  will  lost  about  tit  her,"  said  the 
woman,  with  a  sympathizing  locdc. 

Willaril  whispiM't'd  a  few  words  in  the  ear  of  Christie, 
who  ai'oso  and  followed  the  woman  from  the  room,  while 
a  girl  about  Christie's  size  took  charge  of  the  breakfast. 
AVillard  seated  hims(df  near  the  fire,  and  fell  onre  more 
into  a  painful  rifvcrie,  from  which  the  return  of  Chri-stie 
arou.s(vl  liini.  lie  phieod  a  ^'vair  for  her  beside  his  own, 
aiul  sinking  into  it,  she  dropped  her  weary  little  head  on 
his  shoulder,  while  the  young  girl  began  wringing  the  wet 
from  lier  drijiping  hair. 

Ureakfast  was  soon  smoking  on  the  table,  and  the  three 
wayfarei's  took  seats  ;  but  much  as  they  needed  food,  this 
erricTul  had  effectually  taken  away  their  appetite,  aiul  it 
was  with  the  utmost  dilficulty  they  could  prevail  upon 
Christie  even  to  swallow  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"Can  you  furnisli  me  with  a  horse  and  gig  to  reach 
Newport  ?  ''  s:ud  AVillard  to  their  host,  as  they  arose  from 
the  table. 

Fni 


an 


(( 


"  Yes  ;  you  can  come  with  me,''  rejjlied  tl  ». 
going  there  myself  in  an  hour." 

"What  time  will  we  be  in  Newport?"  said  Willard, 
anxiously. 

^'  Little  afternoon." 

"And  if  we  take  fresh  horses  immediately,  we  can 
reach  Westport  before  morning,  can  we  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  very  easy  ;  travel  all  night,  and  you'll  be 
there  by  three  in  the  morning.  S'pose  you're  going  with 
everybody  else  to  see  the  woman  executed,  eh  ?  Lord 
bless  me  !  wliat's  the  r>, utter  with  her  ?"  said  tlie  man,  in 
disnuiy,  as  Christie,  vvith  a  loud,  inexpressible  crv,  hid  her 
face  in  lier  hands. 

"  Xo*"hing !  nothing!"  said  AVillard,  hurriedly,  and 
with  ji  ft.ce  perfectly  colorless.  "■  What  time — at  what 
liour.  I  mean,  does  this  execution  take  place  ?" 

"  Nine  in  the  morning  ;  has  to  be  early  on  account  of 
the  mob.  Nobody  ever  lu-ard  tell  of  such  a  crowd  of  peo- 
])le  as  will  be  there.  Most  as  many  as  at  the  Day  of 
Judgment. '' 


EXPLANATIONS. 


283 


m 


;d, 


11  d 

of 

co- 

of 


*'  Can  yon  not  start  rliilit  away  ?  " 

*'  No  ;  couldn't  before  an  hour." 

''  la  there  any  otlier  conveyance  to  be  hired  near  ?  " 

'•'No,  tliere  isn't;"  said  tiie  man,  sliortly  ;  ''every- 
body wants  their  own  to  take  themselves  there.  If  it's  to 
see  her  liung  you  want,  you'll  be  plenty  time  wlion  I 
start."' 

There  was  no  help  for  it  ;  and  Willard  and  his  e(|ually 
impatient  companions  were  obligetl  to  wait  almost  two 
liours  before  tlie  farmer  was  ready  to  start.  'J'lien  he  and 
his  wife  mounted  on  the  front  seat,  Willard  and  Christie 
sat  behind,  and  throwing  her  arms  jiround  liis  n(  (;k, 
Christie  bade  Uncle  Keuben  a  last  larewell. 

**Good-by,  little  Ciiristie  I ''  ho  s;dd,  sorrowfully. 
*' Good-by,  and  (tod  bless  thee.  1  will  come  to  see  thee 
some  day  soon." 

And  then  good  Uncle  lieu  ben  entered  hia  donkey  cart, 
and  turned  his  sad  face  toward  the  lonesome  forest  C(;t, 
doublv  lonesome  now.  And  Christie,  shi'inkinii"  closer  lo 
Willard,  laid  her  tii-ed  head  on  his  arm,  too  weary  and 
exhausted  even  to  weep  for  the  friend  she  liad  left. 

The  farmer,  who  had  no  intention  of  injuring  his  horse 
by  fast  driving,  went  plodding  at  a  jog  trot  onward,  in 
spite  of  Willard's  furious  demands  to  drive  fast.  Jnwardly 
cursing  the  lazy  beast,  he  gave  up  the  elTort  at  last,  and 
strove  to  while  away  the  tedious  liours  in  conversing  with 
Christie. 

Slowly  and  somewhat  incoherently  he  lesirned  from  licr 
all  the  events  of  that  night,  and  of  iior  after  life  in  the 
cottage,  and  her  motives  for  remaining  tliere. 

''And  you  were  willing  to  nninin  in  that  isolated  ]dace 
all  your  life,  that  I  might  marry  Sybil  Campbell,  my  j»oor 
Christie?"  he  said,  with  a  ]iang  of  drcjjest  i-eniorse. 
*' And  so  you  loved  me  still,  even  believing  me  guilty  ?'' 

"  Oh,  AVillard  I  did  you  think  for  one  moment  1  could 
coiise  to  love  vou  ?  "  she  answered,  fei'vetitlv.  "It  was 
because  I  loved  vou  so  well  J  wished  to  see  you  happv  with 
Sybil." 

'"My  faithful,  leal-henrted,   unseliish  little  wife!"  he 
groaned,  jn'essing  her  closer  to  his  side. 

"  But,  Wilhird,  tluM-e  is  one  thing  1  want  to  know.  I 
want  to  hear  it  from  your  own  lips.  Answer  me  trnly  as 
you  hope  for  salvation.     Do  you  love  Sybil  Campbell  ?  " 


»TW^ 


T 


^:ii 


li 


I  if 

m 
m 


284 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


i( 


(( 


''  Oh,  Christie,  I  do  !  I  do  !  •  Bettor  than  life,  better 
tlian  my  3011!'^  salvation  I  Better  tliaii  my  hopes  of  lieiiven 
do  1  love  her  ! "  lie  exclaimed,  passionately. 

*'It  is  well,"  she  said,  folding  lier  hantls,  with  a  slight 
sli'ver.      '*  Thank  (Jod  for  the  boon  of  death  !  " 

''  But,  Christie,  I  will  forget  her  ;  yon  are  r^y  wife.  I 
will  go  far  away  where  I  will  never  sec  her  more  !  "  lio 
said,  recalled  to  himself.  '*  By  devoting  my  life  to  you, 
I  will  try  to  atone  for  all  I  liave  made  you  snffer,  sweefc 
wife." 

''  It    will    not    be    necessary,    Willard  !    dearest,    best 
AVillard  !     Can  you  not  see  I  am  dying  ?" 
Christie  !  "  he  cy'uhI  out,  in  alarm. 
I  mean  that  my  days  are  numbered,  and,  Willard,  I 
am  happy,  I  only  wish  for  life  long  enough  to  save  Sybil." 

Sometiiing  in  her  tone  checked  tho  words  he  was  going 
to  say,  and  both  relapsed  into  silence,  broken  at  last  by 
lier  saying  : 

'•  Tell  me  all  that  has  happened  to  yon  and  to  all  my 
friends,  since  that  night." 

And  then  he  began,  and  related  jdl  ;  his  father's  death  ; 
the  siiock  he  received  on  hearing  of  her  murder,  of  his  de- 
parture to  Kuro[)e  witli  the  Campbells,  of  their  return  and 
their  marriage.  At  this  point  he  could  feel  a  Slight 
shudder  run  through  the  frame  of  Christie  ;  but  wlien 
lie  spoke  of  the  unlooked-for  interruption,  and  of  Sybil's 
being  carried  oil  to  prison,  and  of  her  condemnation,  she 
trembled  so  convulsively  that  he  was  forced  to  stop. 

''  Oh,  poor  Sybil !  "  she  said,  passionately.  *'  Oh,  Willard! 
her  fate  was  worse  than  mine.  What  is  suffering  of  any 
kind  compared  with  the  slnime,  the  overwhelming  dis- 
grace— of  that  trial,  exposed  to  tlie  merciless  eyes  of  hu:: 
dreds  ?  And  that  I  should,  in  any  way,  be  the  cause  ! 
Oh,  Willard  !  it  is  dreadful  !  " 

She  wept  so  violently  that  he  was  alarmed. 

"  My  own  dear  Christie,  be  calm  I  "  he  said,  soothingly. 
*'  Consider  that  you  are  now  going  to  save  her  life." 

Still  she  wept  on,  until  her  overcharged  heart  was  re- 
lieved ;  and  then,  worn  out  in  mind  and  body,  she  fell 
fast  asleep  on  his  shoulder. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  they  reached  Newport,  which  they 
found  crowded    with  strangers  on  their  way  to  Westport. 

Leaving  Christie  in  a  hotel,  Willard  went  to  seek  for  a 


EXPLANATIONS. 


285 


ird! 


re- 
Ifell 

ley 
)rt. 
)r  a 


fast  horse  to  tiike  tlicm  to  town  ;  but,  to  liis  (lisniuy,  lio 
fouiul  tli:it  evovv  vcliiclo  in  tlii'  village  was  iilruadv  en- 
gagetl.  Nearly  insaiiu  with  wihl  impatitMice,  he  olTerecl 
euoriuous  suiiirf  for  a  liorsc  ;  but  as  llie  stern  '•  Impos- 
sible !  "  rose  a^i^amst  all  iiis  ileniands,  he  was  forced  to 
return  to  the  hotel  in  a  state  Itorderinj:^  on  frenzy,  and 
olTer  the  farmer  with  whom  they  had  come  tlie  price  of  a 
dozen  horses,  if  he  would  only  couseiit  to  surrender  the 
git;  to  him,  and  let  him  drive. 

Carried  away  by  the  young  man's  distracted  words  and 
manner,  ho  Jit  last  consented,  and,  causing  Christie  to  i)e 
wrapped  uj)  in  a  large,  warm  shawl  to  protect  her  from 
the  night  air,  he  lifted  her  in,  took  his  seat  beside  her, 
uiul  dashed  otT  at  a  break-neck  ])ace. 

Not  a  word  wassj)oken,  as  Willard,  urging  the  animal  to 
its  utmost,  almost  Hew  over  the  ground.  The  few  remaining 
hours  of  daylight  passed,  and  night  fell  dark  and  starless. 
On,  still  on,  lie  nrged  the  reeking,  foaming,  j)anting 
beast.  They  were  still  far  from  Westport — scarcely  more 
than  half  way — and  the  short  night  would  soon  be  gone. 
Each  time  the  tired  animal  would  halt,  panting  for  a 
moment ;  the  vision  of  Sybil,  in  her  prison  cell  waiting 
for  death,  would  rise  before  him,  nntil,  nearly  mad  with 
impatience,  he  would  mercilessly  iash  the  poor  brute  on 
to  greater  speed. 

But  just  as  he  was  jeginning  to  hope  that  the  rate  at 
which  they  were  going  wouk. ,  in  two  or  three  hours,  bring 
them  to  Westport,  the  animal,  completely  exhausted, 
dropped  to  the  ground,  nnable  to  })roceed  another  ste[). 
With  a  furious  imi)recation,  Willard  sprang  out  and 
strove  to  assist  him  to  his  feet,  but  in  vain.  The  horse 
was  totally  nnable  even  to  rise.  ]''or  one  moment  Willard 
leaned  against  the  wagon,  while  a  feeling  of  utter  des])air 
tilled  his  heart,  'i'heir  distance  from  Westport — the  few 
intcivening  hours — the  impossiblity  of  procuring  another 
horse — the  awful  peril  of  Sybil,  struck  a  chill  like  that  of 
death  to  his  hcarr."^ 

"  All  is  lost,  Christie — all  is  lost  I  "  he  said,  in  a  voice 
so  altered  that  she  scarcely  knew  it.  ''  The  horse  is  driven 
to  death,  and  in  ten  short  hours  Sybil  dies  !  " 

"Heaven  help  us  !"  said  Christie,  ivringing  her  pale 
hands.      "  Willard,  we  must  walk." 

"  Walk  I"  he  repeated,  bitterlv.     "  Bc'':.re  the  end  of 


I'.t  i 


^    f 


I-  ( 


i     :i 


il 


i    i     I 

J: 

11 


'     '■     '. 

i 

j 

i 

i 

286 


Tin:  QITEEX  OF  THE  IH\.K. 


tlie  first  milo  your  fate  would  bo  similar  to  his.     And  lie 
touclu'd  the  aniiiiiil  with  liis  foot. 

"  'J'ry  mv. — try  mo  I"  said  Christie.  R))riii<jin<jf  from  her 
scat.  '^  lloavcu  will  f^ivo  iiiu  strength  in  this  lionr.  Oh, 
AVillani  !  hasten  !" 

With  a  speed  as  .£rre;it  as  it  was  unnatural,  Christio 
started  forwai'd,  and  Wilhtrd,  with  a  last  despairiiit^'cirort, 
acMHunpanied  her,  e.\|ieeting  ovcm'v  moment  to  see  her 
fictitious  streniilh  give  way.  But  no  I  it  was  as  if  a  new 
spirit  had  eiit(M'ed  that  sliglit  franu^ — for  as  she  never  could 
have  walked  in  her  days  of  })erfeet  health  and  strength, 
she  walked  now  ;  never  for  one  moment  faltering,  until 
the  first  dawn  of  morning  grew  red  in  the  sky.  JUit  with 
its  first  blush,  Willard  felt  the  faint  hope  that  hact 
hitherto  i)uoycd  him  up  die  entirely  away.  Walk  as  they 
might,  he  felt  it  woulii  be  ^'igli  noon  before  they  could 
reach  Westport. 

**  It  is  all  useless,  Christie,"  ho  said,  i)ausing  abruptly. 
"  It  is  no  use  trying,  we  can — never  save  her  I  " 

"We  will  save  her — we  shall  save  her  I "  exclaimed 
Christie,  with  a  strange  kind  of  exultation.  "Hark!'* 
she  added,  "do  you  not  hear  a  carriage  approaching  ?" 

Even  as  she  spoke,  a  cloud  of  dust  arose,  and  the  thunder 
of  wheels  was  he;ird  rapidly  approaching. 

"  Saved  ! ''  she  cried,  joyfully.     "  Praised  be  God  !" 

W'illard  sprang  forward  to  intercept  the  driver,  and  saw 
a  large  country  wagon  nearly  filled  with  people. 

"  Can  you  take  us  to  Westport  ?  Our  errand  is  one  of 
lite  and  death  ?  " 

Something  in  Willard's  tone  startled  the  man  ;  but 
after  a  moment's  stare,  ho  replied  : 

"  Yes.  jump  in." 

Lifting  Christie  in  first,  he  took  his  seat  beside  her, 
and  again  dashed  olf. 

"  ITasten  I— hasten  !  for  the  love  of  God!"  cried 
Willard,  passionately. 

"I'll  do  my  best,'"  said  the  man.  "  I  want  to  be  in 
time  for  the  execution,  anyway." 

On  they  fled,  ^lile  after  mile  was  passed  ;  but,  to  the 
excited  mind  of  Willard,  they  seemed  going  at  a  snail's 
pace.  Did  the  sun  ever  rise  so  rapidly  Jiny  morning  be- 
fore as  it  did  on  that  ?  Eight  o'clock,  and  still  ten  miles 
from  Westpoii. 


P 


EXPLANATIONS. 


287 


M 


ler 


ler, 
lied 
in 

the 
Lil'a 

be- 
liles 


''  Factor — faster  !  A  tliousaiul — two  tlioiisaiul — tlnvo 
tliousautl  dollars,  if  we  only  rt-acli  Wcslport  l)eforonino  I  " 
shouted  Willard,  uiinost  niadduucd.  "A  liimiaii  life  de- 
pends on  it — 1  liave  a  reprieve." 

''Hooray!"  shouted  the  boy  who  drove.  "If  ever 
Sultan  went,  he'll  have  to  go  it  now.  Here's  my  stiek  ; 
tie  your  handkerchief  on  it  to  hoist  when  we  get  into  the 
town,  and  they'll  stop  the  execution." 

Lashing  his  horse  until  the  persjjiration  stood  in  great 
beads  on  his  forehead,  away  they  Hew,  and  ten  minutes 
before  nine  rushed  furiously  into  the  town. 

The  streets  were  crowded — bloeked  up  with  people — n 
boundless  sea  of  humiin  beings  I  And  near  the  jail  they 
beheld  the  scalfold,  and  a  sight  which  seemed  to  paralyze 
the  very  life  in  their  hearts.  For  there,  with  the  sherilT 
and  a  group  of  her  immediate  friends,  stood  Sybil  Cainp- 
bell,  whiter  tiian  the  dead,  robed  for  deatli,  cold,  still  and 
rigid. 

A  deep  awe-struck  silence  had  fallen  over  the  vast 
crowd — a  silence  more  terrible  than  the  wildest  shouts 
could  have  been.  liaising  the  white  handkereliier,  tiie 
boy  waved  it  in  the  air,  shouting,  wildly  :  *'  A  reprieve — a 
reprieve  !"  and  drove  furiously  riglit  through  tin;  startled 
throng,  heedless  of  those  he  trampled  down  in  his  way. 

The  multitude  took  up  the  cry,  and  *'  A  reprieve  I  a 
repri^n'e  I  a  reprieve  I "  rang  out,  gathering  force  as  it 
went,  until,  from  a  low,  hoarse  shout,  it  rose  to  a  wild, 
triumphal  song  that  rang  to  the  very  heavens. 

And  on,  on  through  the  waving  sea  of  human  beings 
tliey  drove,  until  they  reached  tlie  scafl'ohl  ;  and  then 
rising  to  her  feet,  the  thunder-struck  spectators  beheld 
the  ^ale,  beautiful  face  of  the  long-lost  Christie. 


■  i'    i 

288 


TUE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


mi 


1.11, 


I' 


:    !  i 


l5 


f^ 


■  ■      I  PH^ 


MEKTIXGS    AND    PARTINGS. 

*'  I  am  not  iiiivd  ■  I  would  to  lieHv«'n  I  were  I 
For  tlieii  'tis  like  I  should  f<,r);t't  niyst'lf  ; 
Oh,  if  I  could,  what  grief  should  I  forjjet  1 

—Shakespeare. 

Foil  one  moment,  so  great  was  tlie  surprise,  that  every 
shout  was  liuslied,  and  the  silence  of  death  reigned.  The 
next,  a  wihl.  Tearful  cry,  that  those  who  heard  might 
never  forget,  rang  out,  and  a  man,  among  the  crowd,  fell 
heavily  to  the  ground. 

There  was  a  swaying  to  and  fro,  as  the  vast  sea  of 
human  beings  made  way  for  those  who  raised  Edgar 
Courtney,  Avliite  and  senseless,  from  the  ground — a  dark 
stream  of  blood  oozing  from  his  lips,  and  a  murmur  ran 
round  :  **  He  has  burst  a  blood  vessel  !"  But  in  another 
moment  he  was  forgotten,  and  every  eye  was  riveted  on 
the  scaffold — every  car  was  strained  to  hear  what  was 
passing  there. 

Sybil's  mind,  stunned  by  the  many  shocks  it  had  lately 
received,  had  sunk  into  a  sort  of  lethargy,  from  which 
nothing  could  arouse  her  ;  and  now  she  stared  vaguely  at 
Christie,  like  one  in  a  dream. 

But,  with  a  i)assionate  exclamation,  I\Ir.  Brantwell, 
sprang  forward  and  caught  Christie's  hand,  exclaiming  : 

"  Saved  I  saved  !     Sybil  is  saved  I     Christie  lives  !  " 

And  then  the  mob,  catching  up  the  words,  sent  forth 
shout  after  shout,  until  the  very  air  seemed  to  ring. 

^'  Saved  !  saved  I"  repeated  Christie,  with  wild  exulta- 
tion ;  and  then  the  unnatural  strength  that  had  hitherto 
borne  her  up  gave  way,  and  she  sank  fainting  in  the  arms 
of  Willard. 

*'  Let  us  leave  this  horrible  place,"  said  Mr.  Brantwell, 
drawing  Sybil's  arm  within  his  own,  and  leading  her 
away. 

'*  My  carriage  is  near,"  said  a  gentleman  who  stood 
near  them  ;  '^  may  I  bog  you  to  make  use  of  it  ?  " 

'*I  shall  do  so  with  pleasure.  Sir,"  to  the  sheriff,  "I 
presume  Miss  Campbell  may  now  accompany  me  to  the 


m 


blta- 

ierto 

irms 

Ivell, 
her 

Itood 

''I 

the 


MEETTNGS  AND  PAKTINGS. 


289 


hotel,  since  she  is  discovered  to  be  innocent  of  the  crime 
with  which  slie  is  ciiarged  ?  '* 

Tiie  slicrifl  bowed  in  silence. 

<^  Mr.  Driuntnond,  you  liud  better  bring  this  young  girl 
also.      You  })er<'eive  slie  has  fainted,"  naid  Mr.  Hranlwell. 

Tiic  clergyman,  with  Sybil,  entered  the  carriage,  fol- 
lowed by  Driuninond  bearing  Christie,  and  then  tiie  car- 
riage drove  rapidly  away  toward  the  hotel. 

And  the  surprised  and  wondering  crowd  dis})orscd,  to 
spread  tiic  astoun<ling  news  far  and  wide. 

Sybil,  like  one  in  a  dream,  had  allowed  herself  hitherto 
to  be  led  ])assively  wheri'ver  tiiey  wiHetl  ;  but  at  the  en- 
trance of  Willard,  she  started  like  one  who  receives  a  gal- 
vanic shock,  her  face — a  moment  before  like  nnirble, 
grew  crimson — her  wild,  black  eyes  lit  fiercely  up,  and 
turning  to  Mr.  lirantwcll,  she  haughtily  denumded  : 

''  Why  is  he  here  ?    IIow  dare  he  ever  enter  my  pres- 


ence again 


V  " 


"  ^fy  dear  Sybil,  be  reasonable,"  said  the  minister,  de- 
lighted that  even  anger  should  rouse  lierfrom  her  aj)athy, 
*'  Mr.  Drummond  has  saved  your  life." 

**  I  would  sooner  die  than  owe  my  life  to  him  !"  she 
said,  passionately. 

"My  dear  Syljil,"  said  the  minister,  soothingly,  as  he 
cast  a  deprecating  glance  at  Willard.  '*you  mustn^t  talk 
like  this  ;  it's  very  wrong  you  know."' 

"  Let  her  speak,  Mr.  Brantwell  ;  I  deserve  it  all,"  said 
Willard,  bitterly. 

His  words,  the  sound  of  his  voice,  wrought  a  revulsion 
in  her  feelings,  and  she  cried  out,  in  a  tone  of  passionate 
reproach  : 

''  Oh  !  Willard  !  Willard  I  how  could  you  deceive  me 
so  ?  I  loved  you  so  much — so  much,  Willard,  and  yet 
you  dece'ved  me  !  Oh,  it  was  cruel,  it  was  base,  it  was 
treacherous,  it  was  unmanly  to  trifle  with  a  poor  young 
girl  thus  I " 

"  Sybil,  I  am  a  wretch — I  dare  not  ask  you  to  forgive 
me  !  "  he  groaned,  in  bitterest  remorse. 

*^And  she — she  is  your  wife,  is  she  not  ?"  she  said, 
fixing  her  flaming  eyes  on  the  pale,  wan  face  of  Christie. 

''  She  is  ;  but  she  had  no  part  in  deceiving  you,  Sybil  ; 
all  the  blame  must  rest  on  me.  As  I  deceived  vou,  so 
did  I  deceive  her,  villain  that  1  was  ! "  he  replied. 


J- 
t 


nil? ; 


J       ^ 


I' 

i 

|i 

f  .11 

11 

i.S 

■ibiLji^^.: 

2  DO 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


<» 


Mr.  Driuiunond,  she  is  (lend,  1  feur  !  "  said  Mr.  IJrant- 
well,  lookiii^^  ill  alarm  at  the  vviiite,  rigid  face  of  Chridtie. 

*'  No  ;  siie  lias  only  .swooned  ;  she  breathes  yet." 

'*  Hero  we  are,  at  the  hotel,  thank  heaven  I"  said  tho 
minister,  as  tho  ooacdi  .sto}H)ed. 

A  vast  crowd  had  assembled  here.  For  a  momcn*  all 
shrank  from  j)assing  through  it,  but  there  was  no  help 
for  it. 

''  My  l)r(^tlior  is  hero  ?  "said  Sybil,  in  a  hurried  whisper. 

n  Yes." 

'*  Take  me  to  his  room,  then,"  she  said,  passing  her 
arm  through  that  of  the  clergyman. 

"  You  will  take  Mrs.  Drummond  to  my  apartment," 
said  the  minister,  kindly;  '"the  waiter  will  show  you 
where  it  is.      I  will  rejoin  you  in  a  few  monuuits." 

Bearing  the  light  form  of  his  still  senseless  wife  in  his 
arms,  Willard  entered  the  room,  aiul  laid  her  on  the  bed. 

The  wife  of  the  host  entered  with  restoratives,  but  it 
was  long  ere  tho  heavy  lids  were  raised  from  the  sad  blue 
eyes. 

*'  My  own  Christie,  you  are  better  now  ?"  said  Willard, 
bending  over  her. 

She  smiled  faintly,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

''  Yes,  I  will  soon  be  better,"  she  said,  in  a  strange 
tone.     **  Willard,  where  is  Sybil  ?  " 

II  \\rxt.-\.   1....,  1... ,.*!>«..    A .   " 


)) 


With  her  brother,  dear, 
Have  you  told  her  all 


9" 


No,  Ciiristie,  I  have  exi)lained  nothing." 
"  Send  for   her,  then  ;  for  lier  brother,  too,  and   Mr. 
Brant  well ;  I  want  to  tell  them  all,  and  get  Sybil's  for- 


:i  veil  ess 


bef 


ore 


r- 


Before  vou — what  ?  " 

Nothing,  dearest  Willard.     Have  vou  sent  ?" 
A  servant  '.ntered,  and  the  message  was  delivered. 
But  sh  ;   has  nothing   to  forgive  you,  Christie  ;  you 


a 


a 


never  wronged  her. 

"Oh,  I  did  !  I  did  !  unintentionally,  perhaps,  but  still 
I  wronged  her.     Hjirk  I  they  are  coining,  Willard." 

There  was  a  soft  knock  at  the  door.  Willard  opened 
it,  and  Mr.  Brantwell,  followed  by  Sybil  and  Captain 
Campbell,  entered.  The  young  captain,  pale,  thin  and 
haggard,  cast  a  fierce,  implacable  glance  at  Willard  ;  but 
the  sight  of  the  frail,  spiritual,  attenuated  form  of  Christie 


MEETINGS  AND  I'AUTINGS. 


291 


Mr. 

for- 


you 

still 

ened 

ptain 

and 

but 

ristie 


checked  tlie  fierce,  passioiKite  words  tliat  were  already 
risiiin  to  liis  lij)s. 

A  ^^vat  cliaii.i:e  was  purceptihle  in  Syl>ii,  during  these 
few  iiiinutcs.  Tlic  exliorlatiuiis  of  the  good  clergvm  iii 
had  evidently  not  been  without  elteet,  for  her  })ale/worii 
face  hail  a  eahn,  subdued  look,  as  if  she  had  at  l;ist  real- 
ized the  great  danger  she  had  escaped. 

"Miss  Svitil,  dear  Miss  Sybil,  e:iii  vou  ever  foririvo 
nie  ?  "  said  the  sad,  sweet  voice  of  Christie,  as  sin;  hehl 
out  her  hand,  and  looked  wistl'ully,  imploringly  into 
Sybil's  face. 

•'Oh,  Christie!  I  have  nothing  to  forgive  you.  Vou 
were  not  guilty!"  said  Sybil,  sinking  down  by  the  bed- 
side, and  hiding  her  face  in  Christie's  little  thin  hand. 

''  Not  wilfully,  but  still  I  wrongeil  you.  And  there  is 
another — will  you  not  forgive  him  ?  " 

*' Never,  so  help  me  heaven  \"  fiercely  ex(dainied  Sybil,, 
springing  up,  und  casting  upon  liini  a  glance  of  fire. 

''  Sybil,  1  am  dying  !  You  will  not  refuse  my  last  re- 
quest ?  Oh,  Sybil!  in  a  moment  of  thoughtless  ]>assion 
he  married  nie  ;  but  all  the  time  he  loved  you  best.  I 
can  see  it  all,  now.  lie  loved  you  then — he  lovea  you 
now,  better  thati  all  the  world." 

"  And  you  can  forgive  him  for  the  irreparable  wrong 
he  has  done  you — a  deserted  home,  a  hlighted  life,  and  an 
early  death  !     Christie,  you  are  an  angel !  '' 

"  No,  no  ;  only  a  frail  sinner,  with  so  much  to  be  for- 
given herself  that  she  can  easily,  joyfully,  forgive  that. 
Sybil,  my  hours  are  numbered.  Will  you  render  them 
miserable  by  refusing  my  last  request  ?  " 

**  Oh,  Christie  !  you  know  not  what  you  ask." 

*'  Sybil  do  you  not  love  Willard  still  ? '' 

"  Oh.  I  do — 1  do  !  God  forgive  me — I  do  ! ''  she  said, 
passionately. 

"  And  he  loves  you.  Willard,  come  here  ;  take  Sybil's 
hand.  Now,  Svbil,  promise  when  1  am  gone  to  be  his 
wife." 

'JMiere  was  a  fierce  struggle  in  the  passionate  heart  of 
Sybil — a  last  struggle  between  love  and  i)ride,  and  her 
burning  sense  of  the  great  wrong  he  has  done  her.  With 
her  face  bowed,  her  whole  frame  quivering,  she  did  not 
look  up — would  not  speak,  until  the  little  hand  of  Christie 
fell  imploringly  on  her  liead. 


■':'>f 


m 


\>\>\>  rwv  K^\\'V\  oi-   1111'  iNi.i:. 

S>1>\1  1    l.M  .'     \  0\»     IsMh      M<    tWWi'll.    lit;)!      1    WiMllil    ^nlllllt   |\ 

ti\«'  \\>  \\\\\\\'  N  .M(  n  H'lM   '      N  <Mi  liMt*  \'\\'\\  clluM    filill  .    \\\\\ 

S\l^\l  '    \»  o  \\:\\\'   :\\\    i\>    \\\\\\\\    t«»    Im'  liM,>;n<~'>.  "iin    \i>n  iimI 

S(\ri  t\s^  <  r)>!\  . 

"S\Im1,  1  ,(\n  «l\\n«',  \(  1  >':»n  I">m<'\\o  Ihc  w  ronj',  iloMo 
tu«\  \\li\  >*!»  '  >>ln  »',u\\\»M  \.Mi  ■  (H\.  S\ImI  '  en  !|  (Mil 
tins  f:^lso  pn»'.o  (h.n  m  (II  t\\:(\<'  \«mi  w  i  «(  «I\.m|  ;i!i  voni  lil't'. 
^\\\^\  \\\  \\\\'  \M\   Im  it  n\«MU('Uts    h:ipp\    l>\    tl\M    )>i  (>n\)fi»t.      Oli. 

■'\M\»lstu\     \0U      \\:\\\-     r.M\on»M  (  «1  . "     hjUiI     ''NImI.     mm     die 

1]\o    »h\\\j^^    >;\vl        rh«M\.    nsn\j\.   »!»»'   |»l;»<'t><l    Ium    liaitil   lu 
W '.liiu-.i's  !^^^^}  s!n»l.  -.^--ih  s;wl  »\nM\rHlni'SM 

WiViiUxi.  ^^•^  \\:\\\'  b»>il»  (M\<-«1  .  I«"  in  rovr.cl  llio  puil.  I 
Km  »^  \  v^w  sr.ti.  ;u\»l  t"v>iv;»\«^  >  ,>>\  .ill 

h;\r»ii    >lu'    t^\;vMulr.l    t«^    his    lip*    ;n\.l    (himoiI    I<m\:ih1     lltt> 

"Oh.  th;»uk  i-.si      tliMuk  (io.i  r«M  \\\\'A  '"oiumI  rhriMlio. 

VltiMV  W  ;»S  ;»  h>\\  V:»|>  ;«t  tho  «lo.>(  .  OMplniu  0;HH|^>l>t'II 
o|V^r>Ov;    u.  luu'i    ImUU;*  i\M»r(Ui\v.  j>:»l»\  \Nihl    ;n\(i    o\«m((mI. 

*'  Mrs.  v\Mn'. r.oN,  >»>\i  Iumo  '  "  o\«'l;nn\i'(l  Mr.   niMuhvi^li. 

"•  <,"^p. .  Mr.  r>r;r>',t  woil  !  IMj^in-  >s  «l\m!',;  iho  tlorlor 
ii;^^s^v^.  :r.'.«l  lio  \s  •v;n  \n.vi  ;uul  s;>\n\;<,  ih--  nu»st  rrij'JiH'ul 
tlViV.^^s.      \\c  >\;r.\;s  'iv>  Sv\^  0;»pt!\in  0;UM|>h(>ll  Mnd  hiM  sislor 

•'  .Uo  '"  s.r.vi  S\bil.      "  \Vh,;U  r;u\  \\c  w  i\u\  \vitl»  iu«*  ?" 
"v"*."..  1   v\v>    r.v"';     kn.Mv.      \\c    is    sunui;^;    such    (Irriuirnl 
tlrir.c^  !     Ov^nu^  wiih   iv,o."  s;uvi    Mrs.    OourOu'v.   r.-ili'lnn^ 
SvbiVs  ;r.u\  r.\  a  wiUi.  torriti^^i  umv.  ;n\*l  lirinvini',  licr  from 

Mr.  l>rari'\xoU.  \\  iriMVvl.  auvi  Ins  ilviiiiV  5ri»"l-Nvif<\  wovo 
lei:  Aior.o. 

**  1  Mnr.t  '0  >oo  Aunt  Von\  :uu\  Onrl."  sni.l  Ohrislif, 
fjvir.f.v       •'  Oo  \o;;  know  wbovo  thov  ;iro  to  ho  foinul  V 

*•  Tiun  aro  on  ii\o  island,"  {?aia   Mr.    lUaniwoU,  "con- 


Mi'.l'/l'INn,';  AM>  I'Aici'ivin'i. 


'M»;i 


•  Mil 
iil'i'. 
Oh. 


woll. 


\V»M(» 


(!<'•(  II  ('III  I  V     III!  \  ••    iKil      Inn  mI    nl'    V'"M     IK  M  Vfl  I   Im   :  »'.  I     Wl  I  I    ;"   fl'l 

II  IIH"UU'IIJ'l'l     nvci     (ill     Mm  III.     ll     V""     WH'li    " 

"     V«"l  V"."|'IImI      ('lllji'llf,     Mlj'iily    ;      "   CI   (III     U'tVI  {\y\i\, 

iMViiy 

^ll  hMiiilui'll  li'l'l  IIm'  iiiMiii,  Mh'l  "(iii'lily  nhiMi'il  f'» 
Miiv  llml  II  l:'f";  Iri-I  ."him-,  imii|  M  I  m  'I'lrii  lui'l  lii  i  h'  idi'  // 
liil|»  III    III'  I'  V  |n  '  I  I'll    III   li    fi.\v   lion  I  " 

Allij  I  hi  II  Mil'  (Mi(ii|  r|i||'VMi)m  MiliH'  (iii'l  iiil  i|'i7/ii  l(«-- 
HJili*    IIm'    ilyi'i,"     I'lil    ,    iMii|    lifi^ihf    In  I     liiiriil    in    In',   I.'/mii 

hlltlMii     III     II     I'i'V.     '/Mill  "I      lnlM.     ;vlllli      Wllllll'l.    Willi     lll(    liMi'j 

JKHVi'iJ  itii   lipi  liiiiiil,  (!iil    liy  IIm'    wiiii|'i',v.  hIi ''m  Im 'I   !»/  inmif 
rnlill  III  iiiii    I  liiiii{i  III  II 

Ami   lliiifi  (III    li'iiir   |iii><''i  i|  ,    iiimI    III!  II    f  iijiImmi   '  iirii|if/'l| 

Mini     lim      ll|"hl       ichirillll,      jilll(>     (lll'l      I    Kl    (I*   i|,    M.;      if      \,J      K'lllll) 

III  I  11  1 1, "I"    I  III  I  II, I  in. 

"   Ml.    <  'mil  I  IK'V  *'  "  I'liiil   I  III'  Ml  iiiii'l'  I  ,  imjii  iiirii'iy. 

"  Im  iliml  '"  iiiifi\vi'l<>i|  rjijihiiii  ( 'iiiii|.l/i  II,  7/it  (i  11,  i!lij/||f, 
hIiihIiIi'I  . 

"In  ll.  |ii»  .iltli<  ''  jjiivv  vi'i  y  >imli|i  h  '  "  >';ii'l  Mi.  l',i,ihl- 
Wi'll.   Ill  itiii|iii'<>        ''   W'Iml.  u  II  '   I  lie  miillif   '-'" 

"  l|i>     III  |»l  11 1  III     Mil     iiil'iy     I  III  ■    m'li  (I  I  ni',  "    ii|(li''l     Ijio 
ymiii;'   111,111.  Iii;'  III  11  i  II)'  I  >»  |i)i'  !•  I  lie  i  ii'imi   ,v  i  t  Ii  ni  jii'I  •',  ( rl'l'■^  ; 
"  iiml   lliiil.    "'illi    I  III-  lili'ii  li    iiiii'i'l   liy    III''    II  m  •'(»'' t,<''l  >i|» 
|MMiniiiii'  Ml    <   III  I   I  H'.  I  iiii''.ii|   III'  i|i  III  ll.  '■ 

"  (  Mil  I",  III' 'm  ii|»|MMil')iliri'  '  I  I'lW  I  nnl'l  .'  luil,  -'.liiii  k  \iiiii  ''  " 
Miiiil  IIk'  iiiiii  i 'I  i'I  ,  mIiII   inmi'  I'li  i  |»ri'i 'I. 

"  III'  llimii'lil.  Im>|-  iIi'.hI  l|imi['lil,  liiiri'ilf  liM  mnfj'fr, 
iMitJ  riiliriJMJ  hIh'  liiiij  iif.iii  fi'im  I  III'  (/;;;i'/i'  fo  ii.iJ.\i-:<:  ln/n," 
iuimI  ( 'ii,|iliiiii  ( 'inn  |iIm'II,  ckciiiiII  y. 

" 'I'lmiit^lil,  liiiiij'.i'ir  Im'I  mil  I 'Im't  !  "  mju'I  tlii;  mirii-'*':r, 
Mlill  r('|Mji,|  iiiii;  Mil'  y'»iiii(';  riiiin'.n  wor*!-'.  Iik';  ;iri  <:':fio. 
"  I  low   wiiM  I, lull.  :'  " 

llolli  ( 'liri".l  i<'  iiii'l  Williiiil  I'dc'I  Mn-ir  fycA  *.;*.'//  r\y  hfi  l\,<', 
oxril.cti   fjUM'  III"  l.lif  ymiii;i;  oipluin, 

"  Well.  ll.  WJiii  ln'  wlio  mI.iiIiIm'I  li':r  Mi;i.t,  fiij./}if,  on  l\i<. 
Im'ik'Ii.  Ill'  lin.i  cmi  TcH 'cij  il,  ;i.li  I"  j-'.;ii'l  r';i,|>r,;uri  r,'irrip- 
hcll. 

"  III'  MtdlilMMJ  licr  I"  I'xrliuMK'l  Wili.u'l,  .•'.{)rin;'iri^^  to  hiH 
feci,,  wliil''  (/'liriMlif  iiMcn-il  ;i,  fuiol,  cry  ,  'jiri'i  whv,  ifi  i.)i(: 
luiim'  of  lir.'ivmi,  hIioiiM  In;  try  to  fniirH»;r  li»;r  ?  Whut  }i{id 
hIk^  (iviT  iJoiM!  I.o  liiiri  ? 

"  Nolliiiu(.  \\i',  iliij  not  rrifjan  to  i/ijnrf;  Ciiri.Htif.-.  ff^; 
miatook  lier  i'or  iiia  wifo  I  " 


K# 

1 ' 

m 

i. 

I''''"' 

m 

\ 

tft( 

\ih : 

!■ 


R 


'■■i: 


- 


H  '   I 


i  ;         ! 


294 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


**  Mistook  me  for  his  wife  ?  "  said  Christie,  like  one  in 
a  dream  ;  "  and  did  he  want  to  "kill  liis  wife  ?  " 

'*Yes,  horrible  as  it  seems,  he  wanted  to  kill  her!" 
said  Captain  Campbell.  "  T\\q  way  of  it  was  this,"  he 
said,  stopping  suddenly  in  his  excited  walk,  ''  Courtney 
was  jealous  of  his  wife  ;  he  fancied  she  had  gone  to  keep 
an  appointment  with  some  one  on  the  island" — a  slight 
flush  of  crimson  glowed  for  an  instant  on  his  dark  cheek, 
as  he  spoke — *^and  he  determined  to  follow  her  there. 
He  went  ;  but,  of  course,  as  liis  suspicions  were  unfounded, 
she  did  not.  In  the  storm  and  darkness  he  met  Christie. 
He  thought  her  his  wife  and  stabbed  her  and  left  her  for 
dead  on  the  ground.  Some  apparition  that  he  met  terri- 
fied him,  and  he  fled  from  the  island — first  returning  to 
the  spot  where  he  had  left  Christie,  but  finding  the  body 
gone — swept  away  by  the  tide,  as  he  imagined.  He  re- 
turned the  next  evening  to  the  parsonage  ;  there  he  found 
his  wife  living  ;  but,  hearing  the  rumor  of  Christie's  death, 
he  knew  he  had  stabbed  her  in  his  blind  furv.  He  heard, 
also,  that  my  sister  had  gone  to  tiie  island  that  night,  and 
that  a  woman  resembling  her  had  been  seen  flying  through 
the  storm  about  the  tin?  ^  the  deed  was  committed,  and  the 
diabolical  project  entered  liis  head  of  having  her  accused 
of  the  murder,  and  thus  forever  freeing  himself  from  all 
possibility  of  blame.  How  well  he  succeeded  we  all  know  ; 
and  Sybil  would  have  died  an  ignominious  death  for  his 
crime  had  not  a  retributive  Providence  sent  Christie  here 
at  the  eleventh  hour  to  sjive  her  and  bring  his  crime  to 
light ;  but  too  late  to  save  her  from  the  shame  and 
humiliation  of  what  has  passed.  May  the  foul  fiend  catch 
his  soul  for  it  ! " 

*^  Oh,  brother,  hush!  "said  Sybil,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  arm.     *'  Remember  you  speak  of  the  dead.^' 

"  This  is  most  monstrous,"  said  Mr.  Brantwell,  in  a  tone 
of  horror.  "  I  never  dreamed  that  any  man  in  his  senses 
could  have  committed  such  a  crime." 

*^He  was  not  in  his  senses,"  said  Sybil,  "  he  was  crazed 
with  lealousv." 

"  Was  he  not  sane  when  he  accused  you — the  double-dyed 
perjurer?"  exclaimed  Captain  Campbell,  fiercely.  ^' Oh, 
why  does  God  permit  such  frightful  injustice  to  go  so  long 
nnpunished  ?  Where  slept  His  thunderbolts,  that  this  de- 
mon in  human  form  was  not  struck  dead  where  he  stood  ?  " 


i 


!  " 


iteh 


on 


Oh, 
ong 


1' 


MEETINGS  AND  PARTINGS. 


296 


"Gny,  my  clear  boy,  be  culm,"  interposed  ^[r.  Brant- 
well.  '*  Ood  is  Ilis  own  interpreter,  and  in  His  own  ^^ood 
time  lie  has  seeii  fit  to  save  your  sister.  Let  what  is  past 
be  for^^otten — •  let  bvjrones  be  byizones.'  " 

*'  But  Christie  lias  not  told  lis  yet  how  she  was  saved,'* 
said  Sybil  ;  'Sail  tluit  is  still  involved  in  invsterv." 

Faintly,  and  in  broken  sentences,  for  her  strength  was 
waning  fast,  Christie  related  all  that  the  reader  already 
knows.  To  explain  the  presence  of  Bertha  on  the  island 
it  was  necessary,  however  painful  it  might  be,  to  tell  her 
story  ;  and  Guy  and  Sybil  listened  in  sorrow  and  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Then  my  lather's  wife  lives  yet  .^  "  said  Sybil,  slowly. 

*SVnd  now  1  remembe/,  though  indistinctly,  li'.e  a 
dream,  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  tall,  dark,  handsome 
woman  in  the  up])er  rooms  of  the  old  Lodge,  when  I  was  a 
boy,"  said  Guy,  thoughtfully.  "It  is  strange  1  thought 
so  little  of  it  at  the  time,  for  her  presence  tliere  was  singu- 
lar. What  terrible  revelations  time  brings  to  light  I  Who 
would  ever  suppose  my  father  could  have  done  such  a 
deed  ? " 

"  His  child,  too,  may  be  living  yet,"  said  Mr.  Brantwell. 
"  IIow  unfortunate  that  there  is  no  clue  to  tell  what  may 
have  been  its  fjite." 

Ere  anv  one  could  replv  a  bustle  at  the  door  arrested 
their  attention,  and  the  next  moment  Mrs.  Tom  entered, 
followed  by  Carl,  and,  rushing  to  the  bed,  clasped  Christie 
in  her  arms,  laughing  and  crying  hysterically. 

"  My  own  darling  child  !  my  own  blessed  baby  !  my 
dear,  drrling  little  Christie  !"  were  her  exclamations,  be- 
tween .aughing  and  crying  and  hugging. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Tom  !  dear,  good  Aunt  Tom  !  Oh,  I'm 
so  glad,  so  glad  to  see  you  again  !  "said  Christie,  throwing 
her  arms  round  her  neck,  her  wan  face  flushing  with  joy. 

"And  to  think  that  you  was  married,  and  I  never 
knowed  a  word  about  it  !  Lor'  sakes  !  An'  to  be  killed, 
too,  and  come  to  life  at  the  nick  o'  time,"  said  Mrs.  ^Pom, 
with  another  hug  and  a  laugh  and  a  fresh  burst  of  tears. 
"Carl,  you  great,  lazy,  idle  vagabones,  come  over  here  and 
see  Christie,  'stead  o'  standing  there,  shiftin'  from  one  foot 
to  another,  like  you  had  got  into  a  nest  o'  young  wipers." 

I'hus  adjured,  in  the  sharp,  peremptory  tones  that  le- 
minded  Christie  of  other  days,  Carl  advanced  and  pressed 


296 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


<'i 


TV 
I-' ' 


^ii- 


H I  > 


I  4    1 


liis  lips  to  Christie's  cheek  as  gingerly  as  though  he  was 
afraid  of  hurning  himself.  Evidently  relieved  when  this 
was  over,  he  e(l<^a'd  off  toward  the  door,  and,  at  the  invita- 
tion of  Syhil,  took  a  sent,  and  sat  dow.i  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  chair. 

And  then,  when  Mrs.  Tom  had  liugged  and  kissed 
Christie  to  her  heart's  content,  and  laugluHl  jind  cried  lier- 
self  into  sometliing  like  composure,  her  first  demand  was 
to  hear  all  that  had  liappcned  "  sence  tliat  tliere  awful 
night."  And  Syhil,  fearing  to  further  agitate  Christie, 
who  had  now  fallen  back,  completely  exhausted,  on  her 
})ill()W,  led  the  bustling  little  woman  over  to  the  window, 
and  seating  herself  near  her,  related  all.  Mrs.  Tom  lis- 
tened with  many  "  lor'  sake's  I  "  and  ''  gracious  me's  !  "  and 


( . 


olfs  I  "  and  '*ah,  Lord's  I  "  until  Sybil  began  relating 
tiic  maniac's  story.  As  she  proceeded,  Mrs.  Tom  grew 
violently  agitated  ;  and  before  she  could  roach  the  end, 
the  old  lady  had  jumped  up,  and,  pale  and  trembling, 
bent  over  Cliristie. 

**  Christie,  look  hero,"  she  said,  excitedly  ;  ''  that  there 
crazy  woman  had  a  little  child,  had  she,  the  time  she  was 
wailed  up  in  that  room  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  rei)licd  Christie,  wonderingly. 

*' That  there  little  child  was  left  in  Campbell's  Lodge 
long  o'  ^Fark  Campbell,  was  it  ?"  continued  Mrs.  Tom, 
more  and  more  agitated. 

"  Yc  I  believe  so.  Why,  Aunt  Tom,  what's  the 
matter  ?  " 

''  And  they  never  could  find  out  what  'came  of  it  after, 
could  they  ?  "  again  asked  ^Irs.  Tom,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

'*  Xo.  AVhy,  wl'.at  in  the  world  docs  ail  you,  Aunt 
Tom  ?"  said  Christie,  in  still  increasing  surprise. 

"  Oh,  my  Saviour  I  Oh.  my  dear  f.ord  !  Only  to 
think  on  it  I  Christie,  that  there  crazy  woman  is  your 
mother  !  You  are  the  little  child  that  was  left  with  Mark 
Campbell." 

In  a  moment  every  one  was  on  his  feet,  gazing  in  won- 
der and  junnzo  on  Mrs.  Tom,  and  at  the  others,  iis  if  won- 
dering what  in  the  world  they  were  destined  to  hear  next, 
('hristie,  too  weak  now  to  betray  any  cP'iotion,  lay  still, 
witli  her  wondering  blue  eyes  fixed  on  the  old  woman's 
face. 

*'  I'es,  you  needn't  stare,  all  of  you  ;  it's  jest  so,"  said 


i 


MEETINGS  AND  PARTINGS. 


297 


to 


said 


f 


Mrs.  Tom,  very  much  excited;  **and  the  way  of  it  waa 
tliis  :  One  morning,  airly,  jest  as  I  riz,  Mari<  Campijell 
came  into  my  cottage  with  sometliing  I  took  to  be  a  Ijundle, 
under  his  elojik.  lie  opened  it,  and  you  may  guess  the 
astonishment  I  was  in  when,  instead  o'  a  biindh',  he  hiid 
tlie  sweetest,  dearest,  puttiest  little  baby  on  tlie  table  ever 
1  seed.  Lor'  sakes  I  I  was  so  completely  consleriiilied  I 
hadn't  a  word  to  say,  but  jest  stood  starin'  with  my  mouth 
wide  open,  fust  at  him  and  then  at  th(»  baby  that  was 
sleepin'  like  a  sweet  little  angel.  lUsfore  I  could  ax  him  a 
single  blessed  question  'bout  it,  he  sez  to  me  :  '  Mrs.  'I'om. 
there's  a  child  I  want  tooken  care  of.  Kf  you'll  do  it,  I'll 
pay  you  ;  if  you  won't — '  I  don't  know  what  he  was  going 
to  say,  for  I  lu'oke  out  with  the  greatest  string  o'  questions 
just  then  that  ever  was,  asking  him  all  about  the  baby  ; 
but  he  only  looked  fierce,  ami  wouldn't  tell  me  a  word. 
*  If  you  will  take  it,  Mrs.  Tom,'  s(^z  he,  '  you  shall  bo  well 
rewarded  for  taking  care  of  it  ;  but  you  must  never,  whih^ 
I  live,  breathe  to  a  living  soul  that  I  left  it  with  you.  If 
you  do,'  sez  he,  '  it  will  l)e  all  the  w;n'se  for  you.'  '  And 
its  nu)ther,'  sez  I  ;  '  where  is  she  ?  '  >[y  conscience  I  if 
you  had  seen  him  then  !  llis  face  got  like  a  thunder- 
cloud, and  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  nuide  me  tremble — yes, 
even  me  (and  there  ain't  many  I'd  tremble  before,  thank 
the  Lord  I)  ;  '  Never  mention  that  word  Mgnin,  or  \  swear 
ril  blow  vour  brains  out  as  I  would  a  rabbit's!'  And 
then  he  rnslied  from  the  house,  leaving  me  more  aston- 
ished aiul  frightened  than  ever  I  hail  been  before  in  all  my 
born  days.  JJut  I  kept  the  baby,  and  called  it  *  Chris- 
tiana,' after  a  sister  I  had  once  (Carl  lEenley's  mother, 
poor  thing,  that  went  and  heaved  herself  away  on  a  vaga- 
boncs  of  a  Dutchnian),  jnid  kept  it  till  it  grew  up.  Mark 
Cauip])ell  died  a  little  while  after,  but  we  never  s})oke  an- 
other word  about  the  clilKl  ;  but  now  I  know,  after  hear- 
ing about  the  crazy  woman,  she  was  its  mother." 

Aunt  Tom  paused  for  breath,  ;ind  Sybil,  with  a 
great  cry,  s^jrang  forward  and  clasped  Christie  in  her 
arms. 

'*  My  sister  I  my  sister  I  my  dear  little  sister  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, through  her  fast  falling  tears.  "  Oh,  Cliristie  : 
oh  !  Christie  I  to  discover  you  are  mv  sister  when  it  is  too 
late  !  " 

With  her  arms  round  Sybil's  neck,  her  golden  head 


iir 


208 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


lying  on  her  shouliler,  Christie  said,  in  a  voice  so  faint 
that  Sybil   had   to  stoc^)  down  very  low  to  hear  Jier  : 

"  I  ain  going,  Sybil,  dear  sister  Sybil  !  tell  Guy,  my 
brotlier,  and  iVunt  Tom,  to  come  and  bid  me  good-by." 

In  a  voice  choked  with  sol}s,  Sybil  failed  them  to  the 
bedside,  to  receive  that  parting  embi'ace.  (Jny's  eyes 
were  full  of  tears,  and  Mrs.  Tom's  sobs  resounded  audibly 
through  the  room. 

*^  And  now,  Sybil,  my  own,  my  darling  sister,  good-by, 
and  God  bless  you.  Hush  I  do  not  weep  so  ;"  and  the 
little  wan  arms  clasped  Sybil's  neck  in  a  last  embrace. 
''Dearest  Sybil,  go  now  and  send  AVillard  to  me  I" 

Pressing  a  last  kiss  on  the  transparent  brow,  Sybil  arose, 
and  beckoned  Willard  to  approach.  Cjilm  and  tearless, 
but  pale  with  a  gi'ief  too  intense  for  tears,  he  came  over, 
A  Hush  of  love  and  joy  lit  up  the  wan  face  at  his  approach, 
her  arms — with  a  last  effort — t'lcircled  his  neck;  the 
golden  head  dropped  on  his  breast,  while  the  sweet,  beau- 
tiful lips  murmured  :  "  Dear  AVillard  !  dearest  Willard  ! 
good-by  !  I  aui  going;  going  to  heaven  to  pray  for  you 
and  Sybil.  You  will  try  to  be  very  hajipy,  and  make  her 
very  happy,  when  I  am  gone — will  you  not  ?  Lift  n\t  up, 
Willard,  and  carry  me  to  the  window ;  I  want  to  see  the 
beautiful  sunlight  once  more." 

Tie  lifted  the  slight  little  form,  and  sat  down  beside  the 
window.  A  bright  ray  of  sunshine  flashed  in,  and  lit  up 
with  a  sort  of  glory  the  angel  brow,  the  golden  hair,  and 
the  sweet,  pale  face. 

Colder  and  colder  grew  the  hand  in  his  ;  lower  sank  the 
head  on  his  bosom;  fainter  and  fainter  beat  the  gentle, 
loving  heart.  Xo  sound,  but  the  suppressed  sobs  of  Mrs. 
Tom,  broke  the  stillness  of  the  room. 

Suddenly  the  closed  eyes  flew  open,  with  a  vivid,  radiant 
light ;  the  sweet  lips  parted  in  a  smile  of  inelfable  joy, 
and  she  half  rose  from  her  recumbent  posture.  The  next, 
she  fell  back  ;  the  blue  eyes  closed  ;  a  slight  shiver  passed 
through  her  frame,  and  the  streaming  sunshine  fell  on 
the  face  of  the  dead. 


Three  months  after,  there  was  a  wedding — a  very  quiet, 
private  one — at  the  little  church  of  Newport.  And  when 
it  was  over,  Sybil  and  Willard  entered  their  plain,  dark 


h 


MEETINGS  AND  PARTINGS. 


'^99 


traveling  carriage,  and,  bidding  good-by  to  tboir  friends 
assembled  in  the  parsonage,  set  out  for  Willard's  Virginia 
home — where,  in  tlie  unclouded  sunshii.e  of  the  future, 
they  soon  forgot,  or  learned  only  to  look  back  with  tender 
regret,  to  the  sufferings  and  sorrows  of  the  past. 

Christie  was  not  forgotten.  The  oldest  daughter  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Drummond,  a  gentle,  dark-eyed  girl,  bears 
her  name. 

Six  months  after  the  marriage  of  Sybil  her  brother  led 
to  the  altar  Laura  Courtney,  whose  luitural  vivacity  soon 
overcame  the  shock  she  had  received  by  the  sudden  death 
of  Edgar  Courtney,  her  unloved  husbaiul ;  and  three  days 
later,  in  the  good  bark  ''  Evening  Star,"  she  was  dancing 
over  the  bright  waves  of  the  Atlantic,  on  lier  way  to 
Europe  with  Captain  Campbell. 

Willard  Drummond  sent  for  Uncle  Reuben  and  Bertha, 
and  for  several  yjars  they  resided  with  him.  But  wiien 
at  last  the  gentle  maniac  passed  in  peace  away,  her  faithful 
cousin  bade  them  farewell,  and  set  out  for  Ins  boyhood's 
home,  to  pass  his  last  days  under  the  old  roof  tree. 

And  Aunt  Tom,  good  old  Aunt  Tom,  still  stayed  on  the 
island,  which  no  persuasions  could  ever  induce  her  to 
leave,,  and  there  brought  up  Mr.  Carl  Henley  in  the  way 
he  should  go  ;  and  employed  her  whole  heart  and  soul  in 
the  alas  !  vain  labor  of  curing  him  of  the  sin  of  laziness. 
If  any  reader  is  concerned  in  knowing  the  future  fate  of 
that  interesting  young  gentleman,  I  am  ha[)py  to  say, 
when  he  arrived  at  the  years  of  discretion,  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  as  trap})ing,  strong-armed,  red-cheeked, 
German  girl,  who  fell  violently  in  love  with  the  tallow- 
candle  complexion  and  tow  locks  of  the  fascinating  youth. 
Mr.  Henley,  after  revolving  the  matter  over  profoundly 
in  all  its  bearings,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  might 
as  well  marry  her  as  not,  whicli  he  accordingly  did,  in  the 
*' fulness  of  time" — having  previously  extorted  a  promise 
from  her  to  do  all  the  work.  Mrs.  'I'om,  who  had  an  in- 
vincible antipathy  to  '' furriners,"  looked  with  dislike  at 
first  on  her  niece-in-law  ;  but  the  unvarying  good  humor 
of  Mrs.  Henley,  and  her  willingness  to  work,  soon  com- 
pletely gained  the  good  old  lady's  affections,  and  mastered 
her  prejudices. 

THE   END. 


